Destination
by thelittletree
Summary: Based on an existing VinTifa relationship. Vincent and Tifa go to an Avalanche reunion and end up face-to-face with old comrades, die-hard pre-conceived notions, and some of their own unspoken hopes and fears and dreams.
1. Reunion

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Reunion  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(No point to this, exactly. At least, not yet. I have an idea of where I want it to go. Let's see if it goes that way. Based, of course, on the Vin/Tifa relationship established in my previous fics. Once I'm wearing something that fits, I wear it thin, baby!)  
  
'Every parting gives a foretaste of death, every reunion a hint of the resurrection.' -- Arthur Schopenhauer (1788–1860), German philosopher  
  
***  
  
Nervous, Tifa realized as the small evidences she'd been chewing away at suddenly fell into place. He was nervous. And she felt a pang of sympathy even as she smothered a smile. Glanced at him again out of the corner of her eye, and gracefully accepted the absorbed distraction that made him oblivious to her gaze.  
  
Vincent-nervous didn't look all that different from Vincent-bored, she mused. Or Vincent-impatient. Or even Vincent-happy. He wasn't fidgeting; he wasn't looking around idly or tapping his feet -- to any unfamiliar observer, he was giving no indication that he might be feeling anything beyond the inevitably composed and focused expression on his face.  
  
But his mouth was pressed into a very thin line, and his palm was sweating. And though there was no obvious indication of restlessness, there was a certain twitch that went through his fingers sometimes -- something she knew through experience meant he was craving the tension-hungry surge of a cigarette.  
  
A quick glance around the room, over and between the sea of strangers, to make sure they still had a moment, and she gave his hand an appreciative squeeze.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
He stirred a little and took a breath. Continued to stare across the room. "I'm fine."  
  
A lie, of course, but she let it go. Leaned into his arm a fraction. "Thanks again, for coming."  
  
No visible reaction, but she could almost mimic his response. "I couldn't very well let you go alone."  
  
And that was a can of worms all by itself. But Tifa left it go, too, for the moment, in favour of trying to lighten the atmosphere. Shook his arm a little and grinned. "You sure you don't want to drink tonight?"  
  
He finally glanced at her from where he'd been gazing into the distance, his eyes narrowing a little. Customarily somewhere between annoyed and amused at her teasing, and she continued grinning with the satisfaction of having broken through the first layer of his funk. "I said I wouldn't. I'm not going to."  
  
"All right." She squeezed his hand again. "If I were you, though, I would get rid of your 'itch' before we have to make any conversation."  
  
She'd felt his cigarettes in his pocket earlier, accidentally too close and nearly sitting on him as they'd tried to adjust into a taxi.  
  
Expecting a sigh at having been discovered -- he who had promised to quit, for the baby's sake -- Tifa was sent questing around the room with her eyes as Vincent lifted his head a little, abruptly and uncharacteristically distracted.  
  
"You see her?"  
  
"There." He said the word quickly, and she couldn't help but notice his tone. Strained, maybe a little anxious. "To the left, under the gold awning."  
  
She craned upward, searching for the familiar eyes, large and darting wide, over the trembling child-grin that had always seemed to characterize the youngest of their group. Spotted her. Waved, before she even realized she was waving.  
  
"Yuffie!"  
  
The girl turned, her face alight with the suddenness of recognition. "Tifa?" Even from a distance she looked taller, firmer, longer somehow, as if she might've finally started growing into the bursting exuberance of spirit that had always seemed to fuel her mischief. But her stride was the same -- abrupt and unforgiving as she shouldered for space through the crowd -- making her way to stand in front of her two old comrades.  
  
And she didn't say anything for a moment, just grinning fit to light the room. And Tifa had the impression she was waiting for some kind of approval. Quickly, she tried to take note of all of the differences, wondering where a compliment would be proper.  
  
"Oh, Yuffie." She smiled, not quite sure how the younger woman remembered her, and not sure how much Barret might've told her. "Look at your muscles!"  
  
The grin, if possible, flashed wider, and Tifa had a peculiar notion that she'd just passed some kind of test. As if Yuffie might've been waiting for some indication of the old intimacy.  
  
"Yeah, I've been training. You should see all of the materia I have. Most of it's mastered. But, you know, that's really not the point any more." Another flash of her grin. "Didn't think I'd ever be admitting that."  
  
She didn't have to say it. Tifa could see the flame of something familiar in Yuffie's expression. Maybe it was her father, or some new tutor. Someone she was trying to prove herself to. Tifa had seen the look in her own mirror often enough after years of coming home, sweat-drenched, from Zangan's backyard. Someone had finally managed to tap into all of that energy, teaching the young Kisaragi the addictive power of harnessing it.  
  
Ready with some appropriate social platitude, trying to remember the ease that had once existed, Tifa was surprised when Yuffie continued with no idea of awkwardness. "Ye Gods, Barret told me you were pregnant, but I didn't expect you to be so..." She opened her arms a little around her own inevitably narrow abdomen and seemed to lose the words, as if the gain of years had also lost her some of her tactless vocabulary.  
  
And then her eyes slid upward to Vincent's face, like he might've said something.  
  
None of them, Tifa suddenly remembered with a pang of clumsy regret, had ever really figured out how to address Vincent. Back then, non-action had kind of become their answer to him, since he'd always seemed to fade into the background on his own. But right now, of course, he was very visible. For the first time, obviously more than the shadow they'd always taken him for. Holding her hand; and she with her belly -- Tifa recognized with a kind of unpolished pride that she was the contradiction to his character.  
  
And Yuffie seemed to be realizing it, too, in some stiffening embarrassment. Belatedly aware that she had made no conversational provision for this moment, Tifa struggled for some words to break the heavy silence.  
  
But Yuffie, very unlike a child, faced the situation head-on without a bumbling excuse or an apology.  
  
"You cut your hair, Vincent."  
  
One of Vincent's eyebrows twitched. Caught off-guard, Tifa interpreted automatically, by the non-sequiter.  
  
They had cut his hair, she recalled. Weeks ago, just to get rid of the loose ends. About six inches, all told.  
  
"It looks good."  
  
And it did. She'd thought so, both privately and audibly, a number of times. Glanced at Vincent to see what he would say, and then watched him blink, looking suddenly lost for words. Squeezed his hand, wanting to encourage him, somehow, to move beyond what had always been holding him back.  
  
He swallowed and licked his lips quickly as if he might've been trying to relax his guard, to accept a consequence he'd probably been wrestling with since he'd agreed to go with her. Finally inclined his head slightly. "Thank you."  
  
And Tifa smiled, feeling absurdly grateful.  
  
Yuffie smiled, too, a peculiar kind of eager victory in her expression. "Tifa cut it?"  
  
It was like watching a statue start to soften into semi-fluid life, she thought.  
  
"Yes. Tifa cut it."  
  
And Yuffie glanced at her, a selflessly satisfied look in her eyes. No longer a child; old enough to realize the value of change. "Good job, Tifa," she commented casually, as if they might still be talking about the hair cut.  
  
And, suddenly reminded of the constant and subtle support of Lily, Tifa felt the prick of tears behind her smile. "It took practice."  
  
"That kind of thing does." And something told her that Godo was probably getting belated lessons on how to raise his daughter.  
  
There was a crackle of static, and a somewhat garbled announcement broadcast the arrival of a train headed for all points west. Yuffie grinned and clapped suddenly, and the moment was broken. "That's us. Let's go." She turned without a pause and headed back through the moving crowd.  
  
And Tifa knew she would search Yuffie out again, to talk to the woman the child had become. It seemed they had more in common now than simple training. And no sharp edges of an untried love triangle, this time, to have to beware of. 


	2. Attempted Resolution

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Attempted Resolution  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Wow, eleven days since the first chapter. My longest hiatus between updates. Sorry, my computer died. And no matter what others say, pencil and paper just aren't the same.)   
  
"Change, when it comes, cracks everything open." -- Dorothy Allison  
  
***  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Tifa dropped her travel bag unceremoniously onto the plush carpet and grimaced as the baby continued to roil inside of her, happily oblivious to her discomfort. "Not really." She glanced over her shoulder and smiled tightly at him. "I thought you weren't going to ask that anymore."  
  
"Hmh." He helped her carefully out of her coat and hung it over a nearby chair. "Thirty minutes?"  
  
"Thirty minutes."  
  
She kicked out of her oversized sneakers, still too tight around the ankles, and maneuvered herself onto the bed. After a moment, she curled up around her belly and sighed as the lancing pain in her back faded to a dull ache. "You going to fall asleep this time?"  
  
"Maybe." The mattress sank as Vincent sat down. "That does seem to be one of the risks."  
  
His boots thudded quietly to the floor and his coat made a rough swish as he puddled it by the bed. And then he was spooning up behind her, so familiar a warmth and shape that her body unconsciously relaxed into him. "Are you willing to take that risk?"  
  
"I suppose."  
  
She smiled at the feel of his lips on the back of her neck and sighed again as his fingers began to stroke her abdomen. She didn't know why it worked, but it always did. Maybe the position, or her own contentment. It didn't matter anymore. Only the respite from discomfort mattered lately.  
  
"He's settling."  
  
"Good."  
  
The back of his hand was smooth, bones and knuckles a memorized maze. "You going to come down later?"  
  
He didn't reply right away. Tifa bit her lip, realizing she'd assumed too much.  
  
"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"  
  
"No." She wormed her fingers between his. "I just thought you might..."  
  
"Back out?"  
  
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I take it back. I don't want to fight."  
  
"We're not fighting."  
  
"Okay."  
  
They'd talked about Cloud. Again and again. Sometimes she'd brought it up; sometimes he had. Not wrong, she'd held fast, in wanting to know how Cloud was doing. In wanting some closure. In wanting to talk to him alone.  
  
Definitely wrong, Vincent had assured her. And she'd filed that away with the damning knowledge that, left alone with another man's wife, even on duty as a Turk, Vincent had apparently felt no compunctions about committing adultery. Guilt always seemed to equal magnified suspicion of others, and she'd eventually given in to the heavy weight of his obstinacy. Though not lightly, and not happily.  
  
The pressure of Vincent's fingers was fading. Tifa smiled to herself.  
  
"Falling asleep?"  
  
"Thirty minutes. Trust me."  
  
***  
  
Tifa started awake at the sound of someone knocking insistently at the door. At her back, Vincent stiffened too abruptly to have been awake. She moaned quietly at everything in general, mostly at the idea of having to get back into her shoes.  
  
"Does anyone know we're here?"  
  
"I'm sure if someone wanted to know badly enough, they could've found it out."  
  
Yuffie, Tifa knew a moment before Vincent opened the door.  
  
"Hey, here you are." She said it like she might've been looking all day. "We're going to be eating soon."  
  
Tifa pushed herself up and struggled to reach the edge of the bed, feeling suddenly famished.  
  
Yuffie was grinning. Still a child somewhere, Tifa realized, and probably wishing she could've seen them a moment ago. "What time is it?"  
  
"Ah...nearly quarter to five."  
  
Tifa couldn't help her smile as Vincent caught her glance. "More like thirty-five minutes."  
  
Vincent checked his wrist. "Twenty-nine. Her watch is wrong."  
  
Tifa rolled her eyes and picked up her sneakers from the floor. They felt like small elastics around her ankles; her toes felt like swelling cherries. Her smile wavered as she got to her feet, but she managed not to wince.  
  
The effort was wasted, however. Vincent, she knew as soon as she looked at him, wasn't going to stand for her silliness any longer. He turned to Yuffie, who was already looking at him as if trying to spot the original from the copy.  
  
"What size shoe do you wear?"  
  
***  
  
Cloud wasn't anywhere when they reached the hall. But Barret was, and Tifa licked her lips, wondering if there was a way avoid the confrontation she and her old comrade had been inevitably working toward over the phone. Vincent still didn't know, and she wasn't going to tell him.  
  
Cloud had called Barret, and Barret had agreed to talk to her for him. Nothing serious; just trying to open up communication, he'd said.  
  
But, always on her side before, Barret had disconcertingly jumped fences, and not at Cloud's behest. And she'd been realizing, as never before, how protective and close-minded her old friend was. It had made for a good leader of Avalanche in the beginning. Now, Tifa was starting to look for the inevitable rebellion and heartbreak he was probably going to suffer through with Marlene as she tried to cope with a father who might always want to keep her too close and safe for her own good.  
  
Vincent had reverted to observing and she almost wished he would go off and talk to someone. Barret caught her eye and she knew it would have to be this moment. She touched his arm.  
  
"I need to use the washroom."  
  
He glanced at her. And it made her feel angry, and ashamed, when he hesitated. As if he might've been doubting her. In a moment, he turned away again.  
  
"Over there, by the last table."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
She headed off in that direction and let Barret come to her. He was grinning and she felt herself start to relax a little. So familiar. So close, in the years she'd needed a father and a mentor.  
  
And now, all wrong, she realized. She'd grown past her need for a father.  
  
"Tifa, how're ya doing?"  
  
She hugged him and couldn't help grinning back as he tried, carefully, to return the embrace.  
  
"It's all right. I promise I won't break."  
  
"No, guess not." He smiled crookedly and patted her stomach. "You've put on some weight, though."  
  
She scoffed and batted at his hand, trying to recapture the old affability. "I'm very sensitive about that, thank you."  
  
He chuckled, and then his smile softened. First, the questions about her health, she couldn't help thinking. And the thought made her feel uncomfortably bitter, as if all of the times she'd appreciated his concern should have outweighed the fact that there was a disagreement between them.  
  
"Doing all right an' everything? How was the doctor's appointment?"  
  
"It went fine. The baby's still good. How's Marlene?"  
  
"She's fine. Shera's lookin' after her." He glanced away for a moment and Tifa steeled herself for what was coming. It still felt like a kind of betrayal. "Cloud's here, too, you know."  
  
"I figured he would be."  
  
"Wants to talk to you."  
  
She sighed. When Barret fought, he fought with every tooth and every nail. "I can't. I already told you."  
  
"C'mon, just for a minute. Vincent's only really known you a few years; Cloud's known you since you were kids. He's like family."  
  
Family meant a lot to him, a man who had lost one and adopted another. She pursed her lips, wishing for a way out of this that wouldn't hurt anyone. "Barret, please understand. Vincent's my family, now." She put curled her palm over her stomach, feeling the baby start to move. "I have to think of his feelings first."  
  
"Whatever. It's not even his goddamn kid."  
  
She felt her features harden at the low blow. She hadn't expected him to cut quite so deep so soon. "He's accepted it as his baby. That's all that matters. Marlene's not biologically yours, either."  
  
Barret took a breath as if to begin another argument, but then he seemed to think better of it. He'd brought out the big guns too fast, she thought he was probably realizing. After the retribution that had cost them Jesse and Biggs and Wedge, he'd always seemed a little less resolved about using stronger measures.  
  
"Tifa, I know you love him. And you say he loves you, too..."  
  
"Barret..."  
  
He held up his hand, not looking her in the eye but pleading for silence. "If he loves you, he should trust you. A few minutes is all Cloud wants. Just to put some stuff behind him. All right?"  
  
And how could she tell him she'd been trying to assure Vincent of the same thing? She shook her head. "Tell him no, Barret. I'm sorry, but no." And she walked into the bathroom.  
  
When she came out, she looked for Vincent around the room.  
  
Yuffie was drinking punch and talking to Reeve, who was nearly unrecognizable for a moment in casual clothing. Nanaki had arrived a day early, Yuffie had told them, and had brought along a human consort from the Canyon to keep him informed about the well-being of his home. They, however, were nowhere in sight. Neither was Barret, or Cid, or any of the others.  
  
And neither was Vincent. 


	3. Common Ground

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Common Ground  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Thanks for reviews, everyone! I was frustrated writing the last chapter, but this one feels more on track. Happy, happy, to be writing again!)  
  
"True love is knowing a person's faults, and loving them even more for them." -- Mandy Hampton  
  
***  
  
Vincent jerked the cigarette out of its package and put it between his lips before making a hurried search for his lighter. Too impatient for the nicotine, he knew, to take his time. Once, he'd hated this dependency -- hated the fact that he couldn't go a few hours without a smoke -- but, like others in his occupation, he'd stolidly defended the habit because it had kept him sane. And not only the drug; it had been the steady, mindless repetition, the idea that there was always something you could do to keep yourself busy when the job became too much.  
  
When Lily had offered him that first cigarette, almost a year after he'd moved into her upstairs apartment, the memories of blessed escape had come back to him like waves of relief. And he'd been powerless not to fall right back in where he'd left off.  
  
Keys, a receipt, some gil, more keys. He pursed his lips and began to search through his pants' pockets even though he knew they were empty.  
  
"Shit." No lighter. On the kitchen counter, he suddenly realized. He'd put it there while putting on his coat. And never picked it up again.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Being addicted, however, could sometimes make you distracted.  
  
Cid had come around the corner of the building and found him there in the shadow. Legs apart like the flagstones might suddenly roll beneath him, goggles holding back swells of his dirty blond hair, chin and cheeks spotted unevenly with five o'clock shadow. He looked like he had any number of the times Vincent had seen him, as if he might've just stepped out of the sky onto terra firma.  
  
"Didn't know you guys had even arrived."  
  
His face was still lined with past grins and grimaces, his eyes bright and candid over a mouth that had always seemed on the verge of a scowl. Sometimes, despite his temper, the most level-headed of their group, and in some ways the most experienced. Vincent had, to a certain extent, respected him -- partly, perhaps, because Cid had always minded his own business.  
  
The old pilot turned to glance around the corner before straightening back up and pulling out his own package of cigarettes.  
  
"My third in six hours," he muttered around the butt as he slipped a hand into his bomber jacket. "But, all those idiots. Make me so friggin' edgy, caught up in this whole 'reunion' thing. I gotta relax before I bite someone's head off." He pulled out a small book of matches and gestured with them, only meeting Vincent's eyes for a second. "You need a light?"  
  
Vincent was very tempted to say no. To take the cigarette out of his mouth and walk away. To be what they remembered. It would be easier, and they would likely shrug it off the way they always had. He didn't want to make small talk, or pretend to reminisce, and he especially didn't want to answer questions.  
  
But the moment he smelled the phosphorus of the burning match, he knew he was caught. He needed a cigarette, and for that the loss of his privacy suddenly didn't seem like such an unreasonable sacrifice. He took a step forward and Cid shielded the small flame with his hand as he lit up.  
  
They smoked in silence for almost a minute. Eventually, Cid dropped the spent butt of his cigarette into the grass and smothered it with his boot.  
  
"Didn't know you smoked."  
  
Vincent didn't reply. Cid seemed to wait a second for a response, before lighting up again.  
  
"Hear you and Tifa have a baby on the way."  
  
He sighed inwardly and battled momentarily with the desire to ignore the comment entirely.  
  
"Mm."  
  
Cid chuckled suddenly, a quick breath of air, and then he raised his head and took a drag. "Okay. That hasn't changed." He kicked at a crack in the flagstone and knocked a loose chip into the grass. "I'm not really in the mood, either, to tell you the truth. Didn't even want to come. I knew it was going to be the same shitty dramas. Barret trying to get into everybody's business, Yuffie tryin' to worm her way under everyone's armpits. Fuck." He kicked the crack again, and then began to work at it with his heel.  
  
He seemed determined to break something loose. Vincent glanced at him a moment before putting the cigarette between his lips, recognizing that Cid had been working toward something, but had suddenly shut his mouth.  
  
Cid took another drag and ceased his attack on the old flagstone. "'M supposed to be quitting. For the baby."  
  
Vincent realized in some surprise that he wouldn't have minded if Cid had continued. Tifa listened, sometimes teased him, but she never really commiserated about his social discomfort.  
  
"So am I."  
  
The pilot looked over at him, his mouth turning up in a lop-sided smile. Then, after a moment, he turned his attention back to the flagstone. Took another pull of his cigarette.  
  
"Can I ask you somethin'? You play poker?"  
  
***  
  
It was only partly the baby in Shera's arms that drew Tifa over. And she cooed and smiled over little Jeremy for a minute or two before asking her question.  
  
Shera's expression became one of unsurprised amusement. "Does Vincent know how to play poker?"  
  
Tifa felt her eyebrows twitch upward as she blinked. "Yes. Why?"  
  
Shera looked at Jeremy as he began to whimper and put the soother back into his mouth. "Because that's where Vincent probably is. Cid's been trying to get someone to play for hours."  
  
Tifa shook her head and couldn't help a small laugh. "Cid's going to lose some gil, then."  
  
Shera chuckled. After a moment, however, she glanced up seriously. "How much gil?"  
  
***  
  
"You do these exercises for your back?"  
  
Tifa nodded and sat down on the mat Yuffie had laid on the floor. It took her a moment to make herself comfortable, and then she glanced at the closed door. "No one's going to come in here, right?"  
  
Yuffie shrugged and lay out her own mat. "No one has so far." Dressed in shorts and a tank top both made for working out, she looked even thinner and more muscular as she began her stretches. "I think I'm the only one who knows this room exists. Well, now you, too." She grinned over her shoulder and then stood to switch legs.  
  
"And you've been here...?"  
  
"Two days. Barret asked me to come early to help everyone find the place." She smiled a little, almost awkwardly, before turning away again. Obviously pleased with having been given some responsibility, and old enough now to realize that it was childish to be too proud of the distinction. When she was on both feet again, she sighed and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead.  
  
"Barret doesn't seem very happy about you and Vince being together."  
  
And Yuffie, Tifa thought, probably didn't yet know where she stood on the subject. "I know."  
  
"He seems to think you and Cloud were made for each other."  
  
Tifa pursed her lips and began the first of her exercises, mostly for warm-up. "He told you that?"  
  
"Well...no. Not exactly. I heard him talking to Cid."  
  
Overheard, Tifa substituted automatically, and probably not by accident. "Barret's entitled to his opinion."  
  
Yuffie looked at her for a moment before turning back to her stretches. There were a few seconds of silence.  
  
"He thinks you should at least talk to Cloud."  
  
Tifa sighed, suddenly wondering if Vincent might have been right about not wanting to come. "Well, he should mind his own business."  
  
Yuffie glanced at her, as if surprised by her tone. After a pause, she continued. "Don't you think it's a little selfish of Vincent not to let you?"  
  
Tifa struggled against the desire to take offense. "It's not about Vincent 'not letting me'. It's about me respecting his feelings. He's uncomfortable with the idea of me being alone in a room with a man I used to love. And I can understand that. If it were reversed..." This was something she'd realized after a particularly nasty fight, after an hour of crying in the bath. "...and it was Lucrecia, I wouldn't want him talking to her alone in a room, either."  
  
Yuffie seemed to think about this for a second before shrugging. "I guess."  
  
"And another fight about Cloud definitely isn't what we need right now." It felt like she'd been saying this to herself, like a mantra, for days.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
She felt surprised by the question, and realized belatedly that she probably shouldn't have said that last part out loud. "Well, there are just some things...some other things we're dealing with."  
  
Tifa didn't miss the look on Yuffie's face as they gazed at each other for a moment. And she shook her head a little, unable to keep herself from feeling that familiar stab of betrayed anger.  
  
"Barret told you, didn't he? That it's not Vincent's."  
  
Yuffie wasn't looking at her, but she gave a quick shrug with one shoulder.  
  
Tifa rubbed her face with her hands, feeling suddenly tired. "God, he used to be on my side."  
  
"Maybe he thinks he still is."  
  
Tifa frowned and took a breath, forcibly restraining all of her thoughts about Barret's overprotective-ness from shooting out of her mouth in the wrong direction.  
  
"So it's true?"  
  
She determinedly started her exercises again. "Well, technically."  
  
Yuffie took the cue and turned back to her own routine. "By 'technically' you mean..."  
  
"I went to a sperm bank."  
  
"And Vincent...isn't happy about that?"  
  
"Well..." She chuckled to herself, though not really out of amusement. "He didn't want a baby in the first place."  
  
Yuffie glanced over her shoulder with a quick grin. "You obviously changed his mind."  
  
She gave a wry smile and shook her head. "No, he changed his mind. I would never presume to be able to change anything about Vincent."  
  
Yuffie smirked and moved into a sitting position on her mat, facing Tifa. "Sounds like Godo," she muttered.  
  
They continued their respective exercises for a few moments in silence.  
  
And then... "But why a sperm bank?"  
  
Tifa wondered if the questions would ever end. Lily, even Aeris, would never have been so nosy.  
  
"If he changed his mind, why would you need to go there?"  
  
She tried to find a reasonable way around the answer, but as her mind blanked on excuses she finally had to settle for the truth. "Yuffie, I'm going to tell you something in complete confidence, all right? It doesn't leave this room."  
  
Yuffie's eyes brightened with a familiar glowing mischief. "Of course. I wouldn't tell anyone."  
  
Tifa pursed her lips, wondering if this was a good idea. Wondering how much trouble she'd be in if this ever made its way through the grapevine. "Vincent can't father children."  
  
Yuffie's expression fell into a disappointed scowl as she sat back again. "That's not such a big secret. Lots of people can't."  
  
"Well, he's embarrassed about it." Or he was afraid everyone would immediately realize that his sterility was Hojo's doing. "Just keep it to yourself, please."  
  
"Okay, okay."  
  
Nearly a minute passed. Tifa was just to starting to think that maybe the interrogation was over when...  
  
"What changed his mind?"  
  
She glanced up, searching for the last thread of conversation. "Whose mind?"  
  
"Vincent's." Yuffie looked a little exasperated. "What eventually changed his mind about having a baby?"  
  
Tifa was momentarily tempted to say it was none of her business. To say she was finished her exercises and to leave the room. Her initial supposition of being able to talk to Yuffie on some kind of level ground had been dashed away by the same obstacle that kept tripping Barret up, and she wasn't sure she could handle trying to convince two people.  
  
But then she recognized that Yuffie had no real loyalties either way. Not rooting for Cloud or Vincent, but just trying to understand that Tifa was...happy. She licked her lips and knew this would be the deciding factor.  
  
"Well, Vincent and I actually broke up for about a week over it," she confessed. "He went to Kalm and I stayed in Nibelheim."  
  
"That jerk," Yuffie interjected suddenly.  
  
"No, no," Tifa was quick to reassure her. "It was mutual. We felt we both wanted different things, so it would probably be better if we were on our own for awhile. And..." She smiled a little to herself. "...that lasted for about a week."  
  
"He came back?"  
  
"No, I went there."  
  
She could still remember standing in his room at the inn, dripping from the rain, crying. Finally decided, after too long missing him, that she could live without a baby, a small stranger she'd never met. But she couldn't live without Vincent.  
  
And he'd helped her out of her wet clothes. Wrapped her in a blanket. Pulled her onto his lap, on the bed. And he'd held her. Held her, tightly, silently, for a very long time.  
  
"We talked for awhile, and then..."  
  
Yuffie raised a hand and smiled a little uncomfortably. "That's okay, I don't need the details."  
  
Tifa couldn't help her grin. "No details, don't worry. I had a shower, we ate some dinner, and in the morning he came back with me to Nibelheim."  
  
Yuffie pursed her lips and met Tifa's eyes. "No offense, but your relationship seems so...complicated. I mean, I have enough trouble just dealing with Godo and all of his stupid rules. I wouldn't want a boyfriend who came with so much...baggage."  
  
Tifa smiled. "I don't know. I have my own baggage, too." She realized suddenly that she'd been sitting comfortably for a little while and started her workout again. "We kind of keep each other balanced."  
  
Yuffie seemed to think about this for a moment before shrugging. "Well, as long as you're happy."  
  
Tifa smiled wider.  
  
They spent ten more minutes on the mats before deciding that they'd done enough. As they headed for the door, however, Yuffie turned to her.  
  
"So, now that you're pregnant, are you two going to, you know, get hitched?"  
  
Tifa laughed. And she knew she'd come a long way if she could laugh about it without bitterness.  
  
"Vincent is never going to marry me." 


	4. Feeling Reality

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.

Destination: Feeling Reality

by: thelittletree

(Thanks, again, for reviews! This chapter came out just the way I wanted it, and it's making me want to go back and fix up the parts in the first three that didn't come out right... But people reviewed them anyway! Thanks for the encouragement!)

(Oh, and PS/ Sorry if these chaps are a little short. It makes it easier to write in my free time when I know I'm not trying to build a mountain.)

"It's not true that life is one damn thing after another; it is one damn thing over and over." -- Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892 - 1950)

* * *

"So, there we are. Shera's having her friggin' baby in the hallway, everyone's running around because of that fire, people are friggin' coming in off the street to see what's going on. And then, finally, someone scoops her up in a wheelchair and we get in this elevator. Now, by this time Shera's squeezing my hand fit to break it and I'm just trying not to cuss out the nurse, who looks like she could probably cuss me out right back. I knew it wasn't her fault, but I was pissed. I mean, forty-five minutes just friggin' waiting. She was in labour for fuck's sake."

Cid glanced up suddenly and Vincent automatically met his eyes, wondering at the abrupt pause. The pilot stared back at him for a moment before his mouth softened into a small smirk and he leaned back in his chair. "God, she's got me. Can't even swear properly anymore. I do it at home and get the 'Jeremy doesn't need to learn that language' speech."

Vincent allowed an answering smirk and looked back to his cards. The game was slow and he found himself grateful for the beer at his elbow and the cigarette in his fingers. Not exactly impatient to get on with it, but feeling the stirrings of his memory as it tried to reanimate those hours of poker and tobacco and alcohol.

Not just the hours, he amended to himself. The company. Sometimes it was safe to think about her. And sometimes it wasn't. He wasn't sure what tonight was, but he certainly didn't want to find out in front of Cid.

Cid stretched an arm and gave a long, comfortable yawn before scratching at his chin. "My bet?"

Vincent swallowed a mouthful of beer and put the bottle back on the table. "Yes."

"You like that stuff?"

He hadn't really thought about it. "It's fine."

"Okay. Because I've got some other stuff in the fridge." He gave a quiet laugh and adjusted himself so that he could lean on the table. "These cheap places never supply the right kind of drinks, so I have to bring some of my own. Pisses Shera off, but she knows I get cranky if I can't have my beer."

The little sacrifices, Vincent thought to himself. And it was strange to think he had joined a particular bracket of men -- those who were in long-term relationships. Like any other man, facing time-honoured joys and problems. Though he knew it was all but impossible for him to simply jump into the role, into the social ideal of 'significant other' or 'proud father-to-be'. Into constructed familiarity of the conversation.

"What was your bet?"

"Four."

"Frig. We're getting up there, aren't we?" A grin.

It took Vincent a moment to recognize that Cid was being sarcastic. He shrugged a little and suddenly wondered why he and Tifa didn't play so often now. Maybe because it wasn't an excuse to see each other anymore. "We can raise the stakes."

"Um, no." Cid's grin faded a little as he reached for the cigarette he'd momentarily abandoned in the niche of an ashtray. He leaned back again and took a quick drag. "In case you haven't noticed, you're the one who's winning."

He had, in fact, noticed.

Cid picked up four pieces of gil and tossed them into the pot with what was probably an insolent ease when he was leading the game. "I should probably give it up, but I'm gonna call your bluff. Fuck, people like you shouldn't play poker. Make the rest of us look like fucking amateurs." He dropped his cards and took another pull of his cigarette, showing some practiced nonchalance.

Vincent put his own cards on the table and let his flush of diamonds speak for itself.

"Fuck!" Cid sat up and crammed the spent butt into the ashtray. "Four fucking games!" He began to gather up the cards with one hand as he fumbled for another cigarette. "Okay, one more, and then I'm done."

How many times had Lily said that at the beginning of the evening? Never told her, but sometimes he'd let her win, just to keep her playing.

Cid dealt quickly as if a moment wasted might squander his waning luck. And then he shook his beer bottle and finished of the last of it with a gulp. As he stood up, turning toward the little fridge his room afforded, he asked, "You ready for another one?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm giving you one anyway."

So much for not drinking, he thought to himself. Not that Tifa would really care. But he had told her he wouldn't, because she couldn't.

Cid set the first bet at two. Vincent called and traded two cards. And, pretending to consider his hand, he gave the tiniest frown. Lily had always noticed. And never caught on. Neither would Cid, he expected. Besides, Cid probably needed the money he was so rapidly losing.

Cid seemed more confident this time and Vincent sat back to let him win.

"But, what I was saying before..." He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray where he'd left it and pulled out his matchbook. Vincent took one last drag and extinguished the butt before reaching into his own pocket. After a couple of puffs to get his started, Cid leaned over to let Vincent light up. "If I'd have known before it happened, I would have made a plan. Shera had a suitcase packed, but we didn't have a route planned to the hospital, I wasn't putting the keys on the night stand where I could get them. Just scrambling, and that was half the problem. You need a plan. Have clothes laid out, have your keys handy, that kind of stuff. It would've made it so much easier for us."

Usually so careful about the details, so uncomfortable with the idea of being at a loss (nightmares, once upon a time, of Lucrecia giving birth -- bleeding and dying, and he with no idea what to do, hatefully helpless), Vincent was surprised to have to admit to himself that he hadn't even considered making a plan. A mental block, Tifa would've teased him. He didn't want a baby, so some part of him was still in denial.

She always waited for him to contradict her. Things were so complicated sometimes, he wondered at the stupidity of love. So many times his brain had pointed out how insane this was -- he couldn't be this, he couldn't do this. It was like living two lives: one where he curled up behind her in bed, helped with the cooking, kissed her and smiled and let her convince him that this was entirely possible. And one where he lost all humanity with the suddenness of being slammed out of his body. Sometimes it felt like a decision everyday. And sometimes he was afraid he would finally decide, one way or the other, and it would be wrong. And he would take her with him into agony.

"So, have you seen Cloud yet?"

The sudden shift in conversation, into territory he wanted to avoid, pulled him back into the present. He took a few moments to finish his beer and then looked steadily at his cards, wanting to make sure he sent a clear message. "No."

"That's not going to last."

Cid had probably noticed, he thought, but if he had something he wanted to say it would probably be said. And, like Lily, he expected, the only way to get away from it was to walk away. And he seriously considered it for a moment.

Cid was studying his own cards, though, and not looking at him. Sending an equally obvious message: he didn't want to be getting involved; he didn't want to be choosing sides -- but he felt this was necessary, like his conscience might have convinced him it was his duty to keep things fair.

"All of you went through some shit, and I guess Cloud's having a hard time coming to terms with the past, or some fucked up thing. I don't know. Barret's been trying to help him, he says, but I don't know what they're doing. You probably know already, but Cloud wants to talk to Tifa." He began to toy with his gil for a moment before throwing four into the pot. "Raise you," he muttered and put the cigarette to his lips.

Vincent met the bet, curious and wary enough to wonder what this was about. The tendency to blame oneself, the tendency to dwell on things that you would change if you could, but which couldn't, or shouldn't, be changed. Vincent knew it too well, and had observed Cloud long enough to see it. When the present was hell, you lived in the past, even if it had been no more than a slightly lesser hell. And you yearned for the good moments, forgetting all of the associated bad ones.

And, inevitably, you began to want to go back.

For Cloud, Tifa was a part of that past. And, even if he trusted Tifa completely, she still had the commendable, damning hunger to make things better. And he was afraid. She had loved Cloud, once. Maybe time would convince her that she wanted someone who could give her children, who would die when she did. Maybe she would decide it was what was best for her, the way he had almost decided to leave.

And he was selfish, and afraid of more pain.

"He seems to think it'll help him move on, or something. I don't know. The kid's been fucked up and I don't envy him, but I still think..." He took a breath and picked up his beer. "Doesn't matter what I think, because I'm staying out of it. And I'm not assuming I know anything. But I think he's just going to end up making things worse." He took a long drink.

Vincent made an unprecedented raise of six. Cid didn't fail to notice.

"Now, I'll shut up about it so we can play. But I never had anything against you and Tifa. We all had our own business, we've all had to deal with our lives afterward. That some of you managed to hold onto some good things is a goddamn miracle, if you ask me. I wouldn't go fucking with it."

He met the ten gil and sat up a little. "And since you're trying so hard to change the subject, you got your wish. Let me see your hand."

Vincent lay his cards on the table. Cid looked at them for a second before smirking and dropping his own cards.

"Three fucking aces beat your queens."

Vincent put the cigarette into his mouth as he opened his beer. And the sense of déjà vu almost allowed him to relax into his chair.


	5. Dinner

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Dinner  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Thank you, again, to readers and to everyone who has reviewed! This isn't much so far, this little fic, but people are still reading. Thanks, again, for the encouragement! It means a lot! Oh...I love writing Vincent and Tifa scenes...)  
  
(Oh, and another thing. The quotes I'm using I'm getting from www.quotationspage.com. Just to give credit where credit is due.)  
  
"The thing I hate about an argument is that it always interrupts a discussion." -- G. K. Chesterton (1874 - 1936)

* * *

Cid and Shera had rented a room at a bed-and-breakfast, Tifa recognized as Shera led her through the front door of a very large, and probably extensively restored, house. She was almost a little jealous of the location, until she realized that there was no elevator -- only one long, steep staircase, which was one steep staircase too many. Gratefully, she gripped Shera's elbow as they made their way to the second floor, trying not to think about the ache in her back and feet.  
  
Pregnancy, she had decided somewhere back between the craving binges and the all-day morning sickness, was something she was only destined to do once.  
  
At the top of the stairs, Shera gave her an apologetic, commiserating smile before hitching Jeremy onto her shoulder and beginning a search for her room key. When she found it, she turned to a door on their left and unlocked it.  
  
And, as the door swung inward, Shera's prediction was proven true: Cid and Vincent, playing poker. And smoking, Tifa noticed with a smirk. And drinking.  
  
Both men were looking up from their game, probably at the sound of the key in the lock. Cid was the first to glance away as he dropped a few gil into the pot. Vincent, however, was battling the urge to stand. Tifa could see it in the way he was leaning forward, a question in his expression, his cigarette halfway to the ashtray. But she was fine, and she merely smiled. Maybe she was pregnant, but she was still strong and capable, and Vincent had discovered the hard way that when he hovered over her all the time it made her irritable.  
  
Shera closed the door behind them and walked away into another room, Jeremy now a squirming, protesting bundle in her arms. Cid watched her for a second and then turned back to straightening his cards. "Don't worry 'bout it, Sher. I got him."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
He snuffed his cigarette out and stood from the table. "Yeah, it's my turn. You go eat. I'll get him in a minute." He stretched a little and gave a yawn before giving Tifa a familiar gruff smile. "So Tifa, how're ya doing?"  
  
Four and a half years ago, Cid's brash manner had put her off a little. She'd smiled politely at some of his crass humour, waved away his second hand smoke, and had, both privately and audibly, frowned on the way he'd sometimes talked about Cloud. Now, after living with Lily, she felt much more at ease with the idea of talking to him. Cid was Cid, and you took him or left him. And she knew now that she could take him.  
  
"I'm fine. Better than you'll be in a minute, probably." She ran a hand over her belly, still marveling sometimes that she could continue to enjoy the idea of a baby in there after all of the trials it had put her through. "I'm not at the dirty diaper stage yet."  
  
He laughed suddenly and she found herself eager for his embrace as he opened an arm and stepped toward her. Just a quick squeeze of her shoulders, and then a ruffle of her hair, just to erase any lingering awkwardness. "Good to hear it. I s'pose you don't want to join us up here. A couple of beers, a couple of games of poker." He gave a small wink. "Vince here's a natural, but I'm sure a small distraction could turn the table on him."  
  
She couldn't help a smile as she shook her head, and she glanced at Vincent to see that he had withdrawn out of the conversation. Something he'd done sometimes when she and Lily had managed to embarrass him. "No, that's all right. I think I'll keep to my original schedule." Which included, she realized suddenly, another trip to the bathroom in a very few minutes. "Shera's become my unofficial escort, and I don't want to lose her to anyone else."  
  
Cid nodded, his smile tightening, and Tifa received the sudden impression that the old pilot knew what was going on, what she was trying to get away from. And that he understood. More than just for the company, Shera's presence around her ensured that no one could corner her alone to try and talk to her. And Shera herself was not the type to question and offer advice. She gave a small smirk, feeling a brief spark of justified pleasure in her anger, in having someone else on her side.  
  
"Cid?" Shera was starting to sound a little impatient.  
  
"Comin'."  
  
As he headed for the other room, Tifa walked up to the table where Vincent was adjusting his cards. She slipped her fingers over the nape of his neck and played with the shorter, softer strands of his hair. After a moment, he leaned back into her hand with a small sigh and let the tension drain out of his shoulders. She bent down and kissed the top of his head.  
  
"I have to use the bathroom," she told him quietly.  
  
He put his cards down and reached up for her hand. "It's there, behind you."  
  
She kissed him again and gave him a quick smile as he turned a little in his chair, keeping hold of her fingers until she'd stepped out of range.  
  
There were a couple of soft knocks at the door while she was washing her hands. She shut off the water with a quick twist and turned to a hanging towel. "I'll be out in a second," she called through the door, expecting that Shera was probably ready to go.  
  
But it wasn't Shera. Vincent carefully pried the door open and let himself in before closing it behind him. Tifa raised a questioning eyebrow and smiled at him. When he didn't say anything, she simply finished drying her hands and walked up to him for a hug.  
  
"Were you having fun this afternoon?" she asked him, idly straightening a folded wrinkle in the back of his shirt.  
  
"Hm." He gave a quick shrug and she felt his chin momentarily come to rest on the top of her head. "It's been all right."  
  
"That's good. Cid reminds me a little of someone, don't you think?"  
  
He stirred a little with a breath and pulled her closer for a second, his one hand automatically finding the spot at the base of her spine where a lot of the pressure in her back stayed. She relaxed into him with a sigh. "I'm okay. Really. I actually did my exercises today."  
  
"My God."  
  
She chuckled and buried her face into his shirt. "Shut up." And then she sighed again, not really wanting to think about it. But not wanting to have to deal with it alone. "Everyone...well, not everyone, but mostly Barret and Yuffie..."  
  
"I know." He sounded tired, like he might've exhausted the topic earlier.  
  
She frowned to herself and lifted her head to meet his eyes. He looked resigned and she made a small, frustrated sound in the back of her throat before turning her attention to one of his shirt buttons. "Maybe you were right. Maybe we should've stayed home and just existed in our own little corner for awhile longer."  
  
"No."  
  
She glanced up again, but Vincent was looking across the room. She pursed her lips, wondering how much of this he knew. "No?" she prompted.  
  
"Something's going on. I think Cloud's been planning to use this chance to talk to you for awhile."  
  
The sudden calls from Barret, the unexpected reunion. Some part of her had been suspicious from the beginning, but she hadn't wanted to admit it. It sounded so shady, so unlike the Cloud she'd once known.  
  
"If we hadn't come, I think it would've come and found us."  
  
She nodded a little and leaned her head onto his chest. "Probably right."  
  
The next silence went a little long, and it was too heavy and expectant for Tifa to believe that he'd just come in here for a hug. Eventually she gave an impatient sigh and pulled herself out of Vincent's embrace. In the mirror, she could see that he wanted to ask, wanted to say something, but he was hesitating on the brink of what he knew might upset her. Feeling a sudden flash of both pity and anger, she was tempted just to leave him stew in the words he wouldn't spit out. But then she gave in, knowing the argument was unavoidable, whether it was now or later.  
  
"Vincent, you can stay up here, all right? Cloud apparently isn't going to be at dinner, and Shera's going to stay with me for the evening. Okay? Does that cover all the bases?"  
  
His frown was an abrupt scowl, offended by her flippancy, and he pivoted for the door. And, as always happened, so much like a dance by now that she could map all the steps, Tifa's anger melted from her at his reaction. Quickly, she turned and caught his sleeve before he opened the door. Looked up into his face. He didn't meet her eyes, however, glaring forward.  
  
"Wait. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I'm just..." There were so many reasons, so many tensions, and it was becoming difficult to tell the deep from the superficial. "I'm just frustrated and edgy. And I'm tired, and my blood sugar's low. Please, don't be angry. I don't want us to go to bed angry tonight."  
  
Sometimes he walked away anyway. Sometimes he stayed. And, since they were in someone else's apartment right now, and storming out would seem very un-Vincent, she thought to herself, he stayed. He dropped his eyes and let his breath out. Let go of the doorknob. With a small smile, she reached for his hand. Smiled wider when he twitched his fingers and glanced at her, red eyes weary and apologetic.  
  
"Do you want me to come get you?"  
  
"Sure." She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. "Around nine, I guess."  
  
"All right." He turned and let her pull him into a kiss.  
  
"I love you," she murmured against his mouth.  
  
She felt him smirk. It had almost become a bit of joke. Sometimes after a fight he would say it back. Just to keep the good mood going.  
  
"Of course."  
  
A pause, and she almost thought he wouldn't...  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
She grinned and backed up a little, almost chuckling. And then she let herself gaze at him for a second. No one else, she caught herself thinking at time likes this. As strange as she sometimes found the situation, considering what he was, what had been done to him, she knew there was no one else she would ever have been this happy with.  
  
"Tifa..."  
  
Even when he used that tone of voice.  
  
"...they're going to start wondering what we're doing in here."  
  
She laughed quietly and gave him another quick hug before reaching around him for the doorknob. "Well..." No one she would've ever had as much fun teasing, either. "...at least we know where your mind is." 


	6. Falling In, Falling Out

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Falling In, Falling Out  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Thanks for reviews! That's all I really have to say!)  
  
"We can draw lessons from the past, but we cannot live in it." -- Lyndon B. Johnson (1908 - 1973)

* * *

Dinner was brief and unremarkable. Tifa spent most of it talking to Nanaki, who had shown up more for the company than for the meal. And when he retired, she sat and talked with Shera and Yuffie about their recent histories while they picked over dessert. Barret, she noticed in both some relief and regret, avoided her completely. Not long after the meal, he was up and out of the room with a mumbled excuse about Marlene.   
  
Cloud didn't show up at all, not once glimpse of him. And Tifa, try as she might, could not entirely believe her own lies. She was disappointed, a little. But sort of grateful to him for respecting her wishes. He'd always done whatever he'd wanted before; she couldn't help wondering, as the evening wore on, where he was at certain moments -- and how the years might have changed him.  
  
There had been a large hole in him the last time she'd seen him. A hole she'd spent years trying to fill, until she'd almost broken herself trying to fit. A hole, Vincent had made her realize somewhere along the way, that had nothing to do with finding the right person. And everything to do with finding yourself.  
  
Nine o'clock came quickly enough in the right company. Yuffie had taken off earlier for a jog before bed so that Shera was the only one waiting with her. At nine-oh-five, they were waiting outside in the evening air, pointing out constellations. At nine-ten, they were beginning to pull their clothing closer as the cool wind began to raise goosebumps. And at quarter after, Tifa was starting to get a little worried.  
  
"I told him nine," she muttered, brushing gently at a crabapple blossom that was trying to land in her hair. "I can't remember the last time he was late like this."  
  
Shera was smiling a little as she adjusted her glasses. "They've probably just lost track of time. Cid's about as un-punctual as they come."  
  
Tifa shrugged a little with a curl of her lip, but found it hard to believe that Vincent might've let himself get so involved that he'd forgotten about what he'd said. It wasn't like him.  
  
"Do you want me to walk you back to your hotel?"  
  
Tifa smiled at the offer, but shook her head. "I'll wait around for another few minutes, just in case. He might be on his way, and I'd rather meet him here than back at the room." She swept a couple of stray strands of hair behind an ear before continuing with a grin. "Because if I get to the room and have to wait around before locking the door to go to sleep, I'll be plenty unhappy."  
  
Shera glanced around momentarily, but Tifa didn't miss the quick glance she gave her watch. "Well, I'll wait with you, if you want to wait."  
  
"No, you go." No sense in them both wasting their time. "It's fine. I'm sure he won't be too long." And that way, she realized, if he was still with Cid, Shera could 'gently' remind him that she was waiting for him.  
  
"All right, if you're sure."  
  
"I'm sure. Thanks anyway, Shera."  
  
Shera smiled at her and touched her arm before starting off down the flagstone path that led to the sidewalk, her soft heeled shoes clacking quietly into the silence until she was out of range.  
  
This was a fairly new part of North Corel, Shera had told her -- not very many residences in the area, and because there were only a few community buildings here, with no parks or schools nearby, not many people had cause to be in this section of town. So it wasn't so strange when she spent five more minutes standing in near silence, trying to pay more attention to the uniformly manicured agriculture around her than to the minutes passing.  
  
What was strange was the sudden approach of a figure from around the building at her back, someone who was definitely not Vincent.  
  
"Tifa?"  
  
Someone whose voice she would recognize anywhere, even if she put all her will into trying to forget it. She turned to him and stared at his silhouette in the darkness until he was close enough to fall under the proximity light of the building. Only then could she seem to make herself turn away. It had been a long time. A very long time.  
  
"Cloud." She swallowed the uncomfortable vibrating tension that was trying to make her voice tremble. "What are you doing here? I thought Barret would tell you I didn't want to talk."  
  
Without looking at him, she could still map out his stance, the steady grimness of his expression that had always made his smiles that much more beautiful. Like Vincent, she remembered, in the beginning. Though Vincent was no longer so grim for her. Despite the fact that she'd technically known Cloud longer, she realized suddenly, she knew Vincent far better.  
  
"Do you want me to go?"  
  
It had always been a kind of manipulation with him, she remembered with a pang of hurt. There had been a strange rhythm of hate and compulsive need that had made the relationship so hard to break, despite its destructiveness.  
  
"Yes, I want you to go." But her voice was small, not at all convincing.  
  
"You mean Vincent wants me to go." There was a bitter pain in his words that tore at her, even if she'd told herself again and again that it wasn't her job to make everyone happy. She sensed his movement as he lifted a hand into his hair, such a familiar gesture of insecure frustration that a part of her longed to comfort him somehow. "Okay then, I'll go. I don't want to do anything that might hurt you."  
  
There was a moment of silence, one Cloud didn't use to turn around and walk away.  
  
"You believe me, don't you, Tifa?"  
  
She took a breath and felt unexpected tears prick her eyes. Feeling desperate for some sort of rescue, she sent a futile plea to any listening deities, hoping Vincent would choose this moment to show up. Because a moment more, and she knew she might start hoping he stayed away long enough for her to give Cloud whatever he needed from her so that this whole messy business could fall behind her.  
  
"Tifa?"  
  
She resisted the urge to wipe her eyes. "I don't know," she admitted to him, trying to keep her voice steady and sure.  
  
"Because I don't want to hurt you, ever again." She sensed movement from him again, and fought against the urge to fidget or step away as he came a little closer. "Don't be afraid of me, Tifa. I just want to make things right between us. You..." He paused a moment, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him lower his head. "You were always the closest person to me. You knew me better than anyone; you knew what I needed when I didn't even know."  
  
His voice was starting to crack and she was listening hard. He'd only ever cried once in front of her, when Aeris had died. And those had been silent tears, full of guilt and self-loathing.  
  
"You were so strong, and I was so selfish. I...I nearly killed you."  
  
This wasn't the time for apologies. They'd both said their apologies long ago, before she'd suspected a second time that it wouldn't work. Before she'd finally allowed herself to fall for Vincent.  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
But the words still made her cry. She bit her bottom lip and resisted the urge to look at her past lover -- the boy inside the man, who had occupied so many of her thoughts for so long. And collected herself enough to speak. "We've both said 'I'm sorry' before," she told him, giving up on the vain attempt to sound as if she wasn't inches from breaking down. "It doesn't change anything. We've got separate lives now, we should just go about living them..."  
  
"I can't, Tifa."  
  
She met his eyes, only for a second, and instantly regretted it. Unearthly blue irises bright with a reckless hope, expression shadowed by something she imagined followed him into his nightmares.  
  
"I can't go about living. I've tried. I...I don't fit anywhere anymore. Without you..." His voice cracked and his next breath was almost a quiet sob. "Fuck, God," he muttered breathlessly, wiping at his eyes. "Without you, I'm nobody at all. I don't have a past, a present, a future. I don't have anything..."  
  
She couldn't help looking at him this time, and then she was crying. "Cloud..."  
  
"God, something's wrong with me, Tifa. Please, don't shut me out. You're all I have."  
  
Her hand was suddenly in his, at his cheek, she realized. And he was kissing her fingers. And all she could do was cry. Oh God, she'd left him like this.  
  
But Vincent, oh Vincent.  
  
Oh. Vincent.  
  
He wasn't that far away -- she could recognize that it was him. Hair tied back in his haphazard way, what was presumably her jacket over his arm to protect her against the night air as they walked back to the hotel.  
  
But far enough away that she wasn't sure if he might've heard anything. Though the picture of Cloud holding her hand, kissing her hand, her crying and half turned toward him -- that he probably saw with infinitely painful clarity.  
  
Her tears were suddenly cold. She jerked her hand out of Cloud's, feeling as guilty as if they'd been caught kissing passionately. And then, stiff and trembling, and with only one glance at Cloud that told her he also saw Vincent watching them, she began to walk up the flagstone path.  
  
He held out her coat for her when she arrived beside him, but he didn't look at her and he didn't wait for her to put it on. He just walked away and left her to follow. And follow she did, without a glance behind, feeling miserable and drained and unjustifiably angry at his back.  
  
It wasn't until they were almost there, Vincent nearly on the stairs to the lobby door, that he finally stopped for her. And only because she stumbled with a small cry that made him jerk around to her with his arms outstretched.  
  
"I'm all right," she croaked, upset at the tears in her voice. "Just a crack in the sidewalk."  
  
He waited for her to climb the stairs, and then opened the door to the room for her. She was removing her coat, trying to think of something to say to him, when she realized that he wasn't coming inside. She swallowed down a strange lump of fear and turned to look at him in the doorway.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked him.  
  
They'd fought before. Many times. But through it all, she'd known he still loved her. Still wanted to be with her. Still needed her. Even when they'd separated over the idea of a baby, she'd known in the back of her mind that she could always change her mind and go to Kalm, and be welcomed back into his life.  
  
This time, though, he looked different. Defeated. Hunched in the doorway, not looking at her. Eike, she remembered suddenly. Eike Clarison, Claviston. She still wasn't sure. Kissing Eike on Lily's doorstep. Oh, he'd been so angry and hurt, and it had only been the trembling sexual tension between them that had kept him there in the end. Now, now...  
  
"Go to bed," he told her quietly, and it was like a stranger's voice. And he shut the door on her gaze.  
  
Now she couldn't make him stay. And this wasn't something that would just blow over, or that could be momentarily pushed aside so that they could still eat pancakes together in the morning. He needed to understand. He needed to listen.  
  
She went to bed alone, and the baby roiled inside of her without Vincent behind her.  
  
He came in much later. She woke up as the door opened. Without a word, he went into the bathroom and had a shower. Hunting, she knew. He'd gone hunting, transformed into one of those emotionless creatures that he'd once told her he kept completely separate from himself. Bullshit.  
  
And then he came to bed, curled away from her.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
No reply. Even his breaths were quieted.  
  
And it was a long time before she fell back to sleep. 


	7. Making Up

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Making Up  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(You guys are all great, my readers and my reviewers! Sometimes I think I'm losing my muse for this ficlet, and then I go back and read what people have written -- and it lights my fire all over again. Thank you, thank you! Oh, I really want to finish this thing!)  
  
(PS/ Thanks, Alexandria, for the email. That made my day, completely. I was buoyed on air and even had someone comment on my smile.)  
  
"People grow through experience if they meet life honestly and courageously. This is how character is built." -- Eleanor Roosevelt (1884 - 1962)

* * *

When Tifa woke the next morning, Vincent was already gone. Feeling empty and subdued, half remembering pieces of unsettling dreams, she went about her morning routine and kept one hopeful, anxious ear trained on the door. But Vincent didn't come back.  
  
Only one person came to the door. Yuffie, wondering if she was coming down for breakfast. And, both hungry and tired of circular thoughts, she said yes. And she agreed later when Yuffie invited her back to her makeshift exercise room, though she knew her mind and heart wouldn't be in it. Anything seemed better than going back to the room and finding it empty -- and then waiting. Waiting until she was crying and angry at him for staying away, angry at herself for something she couldn't quite believe had been inevitable.  
  
She'd spent a year waiting for Cloud in that misery. And it had definitely been enough for one lifetime.  
  
Yuffie asked her once what was wrong, and it was a little strange to have empathetic compassion from the girl who had frequently shrugged off other people's feelings as easily as she'd seemed to shrug off their opinions. But Tifa gave her a smile and a shake of her head and changed the subject.  
  
And, as Yuffie began an animated account of a fight between herself and her father, Tifa fell gratefully into a series of conversation-maintaining nods and chuckles. It was still so easy to make them believe everything was fine, that there wasn't an uncomfortably sensitive soul under her skin. And it wasn't the first time she squirmed under the vague suspicion that a lot of the things she'd been through had been caused by the fact that she was afraid -- so afraid -- to trust people with her feelings.  
  
She returned to the room, finally, mid-morning. And it was still empty. And now she was getting a little angry. He didn't have to be like this. But it was always like this. Offended, hurt, feeling misunderstood, he often holed away and 'sulked'. And often it was up to her to make that first step toward communication. Goddamn stubborn...and the man could hold a grudge...  
  
Cid answered the door when she knocked, Jeremy hoisted onto his shoulder and in the process of being burped. And, instead of looking embarrassed about the picture he made when she grinned, he simply smirked. Gruff, but adaptable, she thought. Now a father as much as he had ever been a pilot, and he had taken to the job with the same attention he had paid to his first 'baby'. A man undoubtedly in his element.  
  
"On the roof."  
  
Mostly expecting a question, or at least a greeting, Tifa was momentarily thrown. "Pardon?"  
  
"He's on the roof. You're looking for Vince, aren't you?"  
  
She nodded a little and was momentarily preoccupied with what might've led Vincent here as opposed to any other place. "He came here?"  
  
"No, the roof."  
  
"Cid?"  
  
The pilot turned in the doorway and Tifa was given a second or two to look into Jeremy's large, curious eyes. "It's Tifa, Sher. Come to collect." He turned back to her and was chuckling a little. "He scared the shit out of the lady who runs this place. She went up to hang her laundry and there he was, just smoking and looking at her like she was friggin' trespassing. We could hear her squawking all the way down the hall."  
  
Tifa rolled her eyes and sighed. Trust Vincent to be making friendly with the locals. "How long has he been there?"  
  
Cid shrugged his free shoulder and gave her a sympathetic quirk of his lips. "Don't know. Since eight, at least. You might want to get him before the police show up, or something. Stairs are that way. You need a hand?"  
  
"No, I'm okay. Thanks." She gave him a quick smile and headed off down the hall.  
  
The stairs were blessedly shallow and few, and someone had been considerate enough to put handrailing along the walls. But as she came to the door at the top, Tifa found herself hesitating. She hadn't memorized any apologies for him, hadn't come up with any convincing excuses for what she'd done. Hadn't really thought beyond finding him and somehow sorting this out, perhaps with a lecture thrown in about his tendency to look at something from the worst angle without getting the facts.  
  
But she'd broken a promise last night, she recognized. Even if it hadn't been her fault (or not entirely her fault), Vincent was probably feeling rejected, afraid that something momentous had happened in his absence when really it had been nothing more than a fluke. A very strange fluke that she couldn't completely get off her mind, but a fluke nonetheless.  
  
And to come out with guns blazing would only serve to belittle his feelings, push him further away. With a breath, she forced herself to look at the situation through his eyes. Hoped his anger had lost most of its fire. And opened the door.  
  
She didn't see him immediately. And neither had the lady who ran this establishment she surmised, looking at the laundry on the line and seeing where she'd half pinned a towel. With a small, wry smile, she stepped out from the shelter of the doorway and took a glance around.  
  
The view was probably spectacular early in the morning, she found herself thinking, when the sun was rising and the air was cool and still. North Corel had become very green and vital since she'd been here last, as if it was trying to make up for all of the time it had spent as a harsh, ramshackle community built on the ashes of a successful mining town. A lot of things had changed -- a lot of life out of what had seemed dead; a lot of sweet out of what had seemed bitter.  
  
And it gave her hope to realize that no one who lived here would ever want things to go back to the way they had been before the green had been allowed to grow.  
  
He was leaning on the stone railing, the smoke from his cigarette drifting in the breeze, his posture relaxed and absorbed as he looked out over the houses. Her small smile returned. Not so often that she caught him like this, when he thought no one was watching.  
  
She took a careful step. Her sneaker scraped on some scattered birdseed and she froze for a second at the sound.  
  
Vincent turned suddenly, and the hard, wary look on his face made her wonder if he'd been expecting the owner. But then his features softened and he turned away again. She pursed her lips a little at what wasn't quite an unspoken invitation and started toward him. Then changed her trajectory and ended up a few feet away, elbows on the railing. Looked out and saw that there was a playground below them. Couldn't help her grin of surprise and delight when she realized he'd been watching the children.  
  
Vincent gave no reaction to her discovery. He stubbed his cigarette out and folded his arms together.  
  
And Tifa took a breath, both a little angry and resigned at the obvious cue. "I could give you an explanation," she offered quietly, "if it'll make a difference."  
  
He dropped his gaze, though she couldn't tell from the angle where he was looking. "All right."  
  
She took a moment to scratch her forehead, feeling a little flustered and wondering how angry he might still be. "I was just waiting for you when Cloud came around the building." She began to chew on her bottom lip, and gave in to the accusation. "You were late, you know."  
  
"You finish your story first."  
  
She glanced at him but he was still staring outward. She took a breath and continued. "I didn't walk away when I saw it was him," she admitted, though he obviously knew it. "He just...I don't know. I don't have any real excuse for staying. He talked to me a little, and apologized for...well, for everything. And then..." She swallowed, suddenly wanting to hide the words, the truth away. Hide what she'd felt in that moment. "I was crying, and he was crying."  
  
"He kissed your hand."  
  
His voice wasn't stern or reproachful. But she felt immediately contrite for missing that last fact.  
  
"Yes, he kissed my hand."  
  
He was obviously watching the children again. One girl in particular, Tifa thought, who was standing at the top of the slide with blond bobbing pigtails and a young, demanding voice.  
  
She pursed her lips and continued. "I'm sorry, if that means anything. I shouldn't have stayed to listen to him." She watched him for a moment, waiting for some response. Wasn't really surprised when she didn't get one. "Vincent..."  
  
"Mm."  
  
"You know..." She frowned, not sure she could say what she wanted to say without sounding presumptuous. "You know I wouldn't have gone looking for him, don't you?"  
  
He sighed a little and shifted his shoulders, almost like a shrug. "I know."  
  
She felt a little relieved. At least he wasn't questioning her feelings. At least, not anymore. "It was just a coincidence. I doubt I'll be bumping into him again."  
  
He looked at her suddenly, his gaze level and direct. And she had the feeling there was something she didn't know.  
  
"What's wrong?" she asked automatically.  
  
He held her gaze for a moment longer, and she knew she wasn't going to like whatever he had to say.  
  
"Yuffie told me you'd already gone back to the room."  
  
She blinked, trying to fit this bit of information into the conversation. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I was late because I went to the room first. When I didn't find you there, I went looking for you." He turned again to the railing and she didn't miss the restless twitch of his fingers that meant he was missing his cigarette. "Only because Shera saw me did I know that you were still waiting for me."  
  
Tifa drew her eyebrows together. "You mean Yuffie intentionally misled you."  
  
"That's what I mean."   
  
She thought over the last evening and everything Yuffie had said and done. Nothing had made her suspect that the younger woman had been planning an 'accidental' meeting with Cloud. And Cloud himself...had he schemed about it, too? She swallowed, feeling strangely as if she'd walked into a bag that someone was pulling closed behind her.  
  
"I think Cloud very much intends to bump into you again."  
  
She glanced at him and felt a pang of pity, something she actually hadn't felt for him in awhile. He'd eventually managed to convince her not to invest compassion in the fact that he had to transform sometimes. It was just a part of his life, and he'd learned to treat it as such. She, he had told her, should strive to do the same.  
  
She chewed a moment on her bottom lip, wondering if there was an easy solution to this situation. "Should we leave?" she wondered aloud.  
  
It was a moment before he answered. "Do you want to leave?"  
  
"I don't know. Maybe." Maybe it would be best. Although... "Maybe, like you said yesterday, that wouldn't be the end of it. Maybe it would follow us."  
  
He gave a short sigh and shifted his weight a little. "Perhaps."  
  
She glanced at her hands on the stone railing and began to pick idly at a small hangnail. "I don't know what we should do, Vincent." She smirked a little and rubbed her finger. "That first staircase is murder on my ankles. I don't want to have to be running up here every other morning to find you."  
  
He gave a quick, quiet laugh through his nose.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
He took a breath. And then turned his head to look her in the eye. "I think it isn't my decision."  
  
Something jumped into her throat at the look on his face. He loved her. He wanted -- she could almost read it -- he wanted to tell her to do something that would take her far away from Cloud, from all of this. But... Oh, he gave up so much for her sometimes. "You trust me," she stated quietly.  
  
He nodded a little and turned away again.  
  
She smiled, wishing there was a word or a gesture that could sum up all of the things she was feeling. Eventually, she settled for something that felt close enough. "Thank you."  
  
He gave a quick shrug of one shoulder.  
  
And she suddenly felt if they spent one more moment apart, it would kill her. "Can I have a hug?"  
  
He took a breath, and then let it out again. Stood up from the wall and turned to her with his arms open. And she snuggled into him, absorbing every moment and nuance of the embrace.  
  
"Love you. And I promise this will all work out in the end. Whatever happens. Because I'm going to love your for a very long time."  
  
His arms tightened their hold around her a fraction. And when he began to withdraw, she lifted her face for a kiss.  
  
She was actually working on the juncture of his jaw, relishing the changed timbre of his breathing, when there was the sound of someone's foot scraping on the birdseed.  
  
Cid was standing near the door, one hand shoved into a pocket, his posture relaxed and resting on his left leg. A large smirk on his face.  
  
"Shera told me to come up here," he started without preamble, not looking apologetic in the least about interrupting them. "Told me to make sure you weren't at each others' throats." And then he chuckled and waved a hand in the air. "I don't know what the fuck to tell her."  
  
And, before Tifa could swat his arm, Vincent managed a gesture with a particular finger of his metal claw that Shera certainly wouldn't have appreciated. 


	8. Confrontation

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Confrontation  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Thanks, thanks, thanks for reviews! Stuff is finally starting to happen in this fic! Yay!)  
  
"Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic." -- Anais Nin (1903 - 1977)

* * *

The worst part about staying, Tifa felt sure, was the confrontation she was probably going to have to have with Yuffie. Just when she'd started to think she knew where everyone stood on the issue of herself and Vincent, she'd discovered a hole in the fence. She'd never been close friends with Yuffie, but the younger woman had never seemed the type to choose sides in things that didn't really affect her.  
  
As she'd noticed before, however, some things had changed. And one of those things had obviously been Yuffie's take on the world, and the people in it. Especially the group of people she'd forced herself into more than four years ago.  
  
And Tifa suspected Barret of having something to do with it, though she couldn't believe he'd use Yuffie as a means of getting herself and Cloud back together. Barret was many things, but he was not a manipulator, or a liar. He was the muscle of the underdog, she remembered him saying once. A very giving person, in fact. He'd taken her under his wing when she'd had no one else, no direction. And she would've done anything for him in return...  
  
Curled up on the bed with Vincent at her back, his arm around her belly, Tifa frowned a little. And wondered what had really brought Yuffie to North Corel. Wondered if, perhaps, Godo wasn't the one she was trying to prove herself to. Wondered, too, if there was a way to approach this without damaging any of her friendships.  
  
She felt Vincent sigh suddenly into her hair. "You're not sleeping."  
  
She smiled a little and turned to look at him. "No, I'm thinking."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"About this." She pulled herself determinedly out of his embrace and off of the bed. And, expecting his question, she spent a moment straightening her hair and clothes while he sat up.  
  
"And what is 'this'?"  
  
"I have to talk to Yuffie."  
  
He raised one eyebrow, but dutifully got up from the bed. Tifa took it upon herself to straighten his shirt and looked him in the eye, wanting him to understand. "I have to talk to Yuffie _alone_."  
  
His eyebrow flickered upward again, a silent question. She smiled and tugged at his hem until she was reaching around him to get at the back. And then she completed the hug and looked back up at him. "I don't want to make her feel like we're ganging up on her."  
  
"Two people is hardly a gang."  
  
"Yes, but you have all the presence of a gang."  
  
He gave a sudden quiet scoff, but she could see the corners of his mouth turned up in grudging amusement. "So you're saying I'm threatening."  
  
She smiled up at him. "It's all right. You can't help it."  
  
"Oh, thank you."  
  
She laughed and held him a little tighter. "Threatening to the guilty conscience, at least. And I don't want her to feel like we're accusing her."  
  
He was still for a moment as he considered her words. "You don't want to accuse her?" He sounded surprised, as if pointing the finger was the first thing he wanted to do.  
  
She shook her head. "I think she's probably feeling kind of torn right now." Like everything else, she thought to herself, this wasn't a case of black and white. So many shades of gray to 'good' and 'bad', and Tifa remembered times in Avalanche when she had been closer to black than to white. "I want her to know that I want this resolved, too, but not through deception."  
  
Vincent almost seemed not to be listening, but Tifa could feel the changing tension in his body. She sighed a little and leaned her head against his chest. "You trust me, right?"  
  
Part of the resolution would undoubtedly come in the form of talking to Cloud. And, though he knew it, Vincent was obviously still struggling with the idea. She felt him trying to relax. "I said that, didn't I?"  
  
"You did."  
  
"Then I suppose I'd better stick to my word."  
  
"You should."  
  
He smiled a little at her, though she thought it looked somewhat forced. She smiled back and tried to look encouraging. And then she shook him slightly, her hands around his waist. "Trust me, dammit," she pleaded, only half joking. "Soon this will all be behind us and we'll have a whole new set of problems to worry about." She slipped a hand down to her belly.  
  
And he gave a quiet chuckle and glanced at her stomach. Put out his own hand over hers. "All right."

* * *

In the end, talking to Yuffie didn't prove to be as hard as she'd thought it would be. Yuffie apologized for lying, and it seemed sincere – and though she was no experienced interrogator, a few well-placed questions told Tifa that Barret hadn't known about last night's meeting. Whether it had been a coincidence on Cloud's part, however, she couldn't ask without making it sound like an accusation. Though she was fairly sure he must've known. Even if it still didn't sound like him.  
  
Lunch was just some sandwiches from the kitchen in the hall, most of them courtesy of Shera. Vincent arrived with Tifa, but didn't join the table. It was a quiet gathering for the most part, the majority of the conversation coming through, or from, Yuffie. No Cloud, no Barret, and Cid only spent a few minutes in the hall before he wandered over to chat with Vincent. And when Tifa looked again, both men had disappeared, likely to Cid's poker table.  
  
When the meal was over, Tifa debated what to do. Yuffie hadn't seemed ashamed of her decision to lie so that Cloud and she would have a chance to talk, and despite herself Tifa was a little angry at her. So when the younger woman invited her to the exercise room, Tifa politely declined and went to help Shera clean up in the kitchen.  
  
She was wrist deep in dish water when Barret walked in. He paused a moment when he saw her, when their eyes met, but then continued gamely toward the leftover sandwiches.  
  
"Shera..." he began.  
  
"Yes, those are for you and Cloud," Shera answered without glancing up from the counter she was wiping down.  
  
"Thanks." He picked up the plate and began to leave.  
  
And Tifa tensed in indecision a moment before grabbing up a dishtowel to dry her hands. "Barret, wait."  
  
He stopped in the doorway, obviously surprised at being called back.  
  
She turned to him and tried to smile, but she felt nervous and her lips seemed to reflect it. "I'll come with you."  
  
She felt Shera glance up at her, but she didn't turn her head. She just watched Barret's expression, waiting for him to say something, waiting for the suspicious crease between his thick eyebrows to be smoothed away.  
  
"What about Vincent?"  
  
She shook her head a little and dropped her eyes, determined not to make that the issue. Because how could she explain to Barret, someone who could be so stubborn about black and white, that the Vincent who was supposedly wrong for her was the one who had given her such capacity to hurt him – all with his trust?  
  
"This isn't about Vincent," she told him quietly, and met his gaze again. "This is between me and Cloud."  
  
He stared at her a moment longer, and though he had once known her so well, known all of her moods and her faces, he seemed to be having trouble reading her. But finally he nodded, satisfied, as if he'd suspected all along that she would eventually come around.  
  
She followed him up a staircase and to a small conference room. A small, round table, a few chairs – and Cloud. Cloud turning to look at her as they entered. Cloud opening his mouth as if he might greet her, or give some protest to her unexpected visit. Cloud looking just like he had last night, a year and a half ago: same hairstyle, same kind of clothes. And she frowned inwardly on these observations for the first time. So many things had changed for her, even for Vincent. And yet Cloud remained the same. She couldn't help but believe at that moment that it was by choice.  
  
Barret pulled a chair out for her. When she glanced at him, he smiled, and it was suddenly so warm and familiar that she knew Yuffie had been right. As much as a part of her wanted to hold onto her anger at what she thought of as his betrayal, she had to accept that he was doing this because he really believed it was for her own good. Because he loved her. Because he didn't know Vincent.  
  
And she smiled back as she sat, hoping one day they could come to an understanding of things.  
  
Cloud was looking at her as if he expected she had come here with something to say. And so she started the conversation directly, not willing to let him open up old wounds and bring her to tears again. "Did you talk to Yuffie about lying to Vincent last night?"  
  
He didn't seem surprised by the accusation. He met her gaze directly, and she knew they were going to talk. Talk like they had after he'd come back, before it had become clear to her that there was nothing for them to talk about. And she had to steel herself against the part of her heart that had missed being able to talk to him.  
  
"I'm sorry about last night, all right? I'm sorry. Everyone just seems to want to help me, and...I don't know. I thought that if I got you away from Vincent..."  
  
She sighed, and it was almost a laugh as she shook her head. "Why doesn't anyone believe that I might actually be in love with him?" she asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. And after a moment, when she didn't get one, she continued. "Vincent knows I'm here." At least, he probably suspected, and she didn't want to bring any doubts to the table. "He's not happy about it, but he wants this – us – to be resolved as much as I do."  
  
She heard a door close behind her and glanced over her shoulder to see that Barret had left the room. She felt, in that moment, both grateful and a little uneasy.  
  
"Tifa..."  
  
His voice was soft, and she couldn't help looking into his eyes. The hope there – hope, and something else, something she might've paid anything for a few years ago – made her throat feel thick. She swallowed and looked resolutely at the table. "Cloud, what is your motivation in this?" No use in tiptoeing around the question anymore at this point, she thought. "I have a life now, and you say you don't want me to shut you out, but what do you mean?" She forced herself to meet his gaze again, those luminescent blue eyes that had always inspired such pity and such a fierce, almost protective, possessive love.  
  
But this time, he glanced away. Shrugged one shoulder. "I've moved around a lot since...since I came back." He looked up quickly, to make sure she knew his meaning without offense, before continuing. "I have no life, no purpose, no family..."  
  
And Tifa felt justified in interrupting. "You have Barret, and Yuffie, and..."  
  
"I need you."  
  
She stared at him a moment before closing her mouth.  
  
"I've tried to move on, I've gotten jobs, I've even had a couple of girlfriends. But I can't seem to get over...this." His gaze was on her again, so direct that she couldn't believe he was simply trying to manipulate her. And, God, everything felt like it was crumbling. "You're my past, and you were always there to hold things together." He was merciless, merciless, and her heart was beating so fast. "I can't stop thinking, what if there was a way we could've made it work."  
  
But she'd lived with that question, stayed in hell with that question, for a long time already. And finally, she'd given it up to hold onto her sanity.  
  
"I only need a little of you, to convince myself. Or so that we can convince ourselves."  
  
He looked so hopeful, so desperate, hanging by a thread. And she had the power, at least he felt she did, to make all of that hurt in him go away. And a part of her so wanted to say yes. But, but...  
  
"I still love you, Tifa."  
  
And that was the clincher. Love was not unselfish, like the poems would have her believe. Love was greedy, love was grasping – love was need and want and pain and healing. It was about finding someone who amazed you every day because of who they were, and because of the way they managed to stay by your side. Love was joy when it was returned, and obsession when it wasn't.  
  
Love was what would ruin everything, unless Cloud let her go. And she stood from her chair, knowing she had to leave.  
  
"Tifa?"  
  
She turned to the door without a glance back and opened it.  
  
"Tifa, wait."  
  
Walked down the hall. Tried not to think. If only he'd been willing to work at it like this before Vincent, before Nibelheim, before she'd jumped from the bridge...  
  
"Tifa!"  
  
And then he was behind her, his hand coming to take her shoulder. But she shrugged him off as he tried to turn her around, took a quick step away from him, ready to tell him this couldn't be about love. It couldn't be about love if he wanted it to work.  
  
But she hadn't noticed the stairs coming up so quickly in front of her. And now, as she tried to back away, the well-worn sole of Yuffie's old sneaker slipped on the corner of the step. And she lost her balance.  
  
It happened very quickly, and she barely registered the rest of the fall after she hit her head. But she knew a moment before she blacked out, as she lay at the bottom of the staircase and clutched her abdomen against the lancing pain, that something was very, very wrong.


	9. Where You're Needed

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Where You're Needed  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(I actually wasn't sure I was going to do Vincent's reaction to the news. The next scene in my head was supposed to be in the hospital. But I just starting writing, and here it all was. You can blame my muse if it doesn't fit the rhythm of the rest of the story. Oh, and thanks for reading and for reviews! I know you all know I'm grateful by now, but thanks again anyway. It means so much to hear from people!)  
  
(And Lance Murdock: besides saying thanks for your honest reviews -- I was trying to infer in the last chap that Yuffie's motivation was coming from Barret. Without a real father figure in the game, since she and her pop didn't get along, I thought it might be believable to have her drawn towards Barret's gruff but natural paternal-ness, the way Tifa was. Maybe it didn't work the way I wanted it to. D'oh. But, here it is, in black and white. I've probably just broken all of the rules that say the writer should stay behind the lines, unseen by the audience. Oh well. To keep you reading, it's worth it!)

'Love is the big booming beat which covers up the noise of hate.' -- Margaret Cho 

* * *

  
  
Halfway through his first beer, halfway done his second cigarette, just pulling the last few strings on a winning hand -- Vincent was finding it easier not to think. Walls that had once been just about involuntary now took some time to reconstruct. Not that he really regretted it, considering what he'd been given in return for the sacrifice. More than a memory of humanity, of love. Solid presence, an anchor, a home. A reason for a lot of things, including the desire to stay a part of society.  
  
Tifa was probably talking to Cloud, he knew somewhere in the back of his mind. And he was doing his best to keep his word. Trusting her should have been natural by now, like breathing or falling asleep beside her. But it wasn't, and he'd decided somewhere along the way, between now and the first moment he'd realized that something still existed between Cloud and Tifa, that it was just human nature, just his own fear of history. And he would simply have to trust consciously, if not inherently.  
  
Because he wanted to trust her. Just like he'd wanted to love her. Like breathing.  
  
Cid seemed to have realized that he was preoccupied with something. And so, since they'd always let him brood in silence before, the pilot had started the evening off by unapologetically kicking every last old rule aside and had simply started telling stories until Vincent was hard put sometimes not to chuckle aloud.  
  
Lily had actually unashamedly congratulated herself the first time she'd managed to burst a quick, grudging laugh out of him. She'd known he was under there, with less evidence than Cid had now. Wormed her stubborn way into his heart, and put the first irreparable crack in his defenses. Paved the way for Tifa. And the rest of the world, he guessed, possibly starting at this poker table.  
  
"And so, he's stuck holding this fucking thing, this sandwich, while Don comes to find me, 'cause no one says no to Don. Ever." Cid sat up a little and stubbed out his cigarette, chuckling under his breath a moment before dropping four gil into the pot. "And, of course, that's when I come along with the ladder. And I just look at him, holding this sandwich like it's worth more than his own life..." He began to chuckle again and then shook his head, trying to bring himself under control long enough to finish the story. "...and, not knowing why the hell he's standing there, I tell him I want him to hold the ladder for me while I climb up. And no one says no to me, either."  
  
Vincent met the four gil and sat back, momentarily, pleasantly, surprised to realize that he was waiting for the punchline. Eventually he'd been forced to admit to himself, as much as he'd wanted to deny it, that he'd enjoyed Lily's pursuit, her curiousity, her inflexibly stubborn desire to get to know him. It had proven so much to him, in that second year.  
  
He was human still. And, perhaps, worth something to someone.  
  
"So now he's stuck trying to decide who it might be worse to have his ass kicked by, me or Don. And then he has this brilliant fucking idea. He'll put the sandwich in his hood, the, you know, hood on his jacket." Cid was grinning as he lit up another cigarette, muttering under his breath, "Fucking moron." And then he took a quick drag, exhaling the smoke out through his nose in a quiet laugh.  
  
Completely caught up in his story. And Vincent, the half-forgotten audience.  
  
And even the people he worked for, hunted for, still shied away from meeting his eyes. It was in his very aura, like blood soaked into material. Dangerous. Not completely what he seemed to be.  
  
And Cid, who didn't seem to give a damn about that anymore. If he ever had. Who could relax in his presence. Who, like Lily, seemed somehow able to trust him without showing any of his seams. And it had seemed so reasonable once, that Lily would be the only one.  
  
"So I'm up there on this scaffolding, painting on the last of lady luck, just filling in the picture one of the guys had drawn on, and when I'm done I step back to look at it. And of course I knock this can of blue paint over. Now he sees it coming, and this is the reason we've all got these goddamn hoods. People are always spilling finish or turpentine, or some shit like that that you don't wanna get in your eyes. So, what's he do, but pulls the hood on." He shook his head again, laughing quietly, obviously remembering the still-vivid mental image. "And the weight of the paint..." He's shaking his head, still laughing. "...fucking squashes the sandwich, all into his hair and down his face. And Don..." Laughing harder now, hardly able to finish. "...Don shows up then, and...and seeing me, asks him for his sandwich back."  
  
Vincent knew he was smiling, knew he couldn't help it. Knew Cid was watching him.  
  
"And so, he pulls his hood down and tries...fuck, he tries to pull the thing out of his hair. And Don's just...just fucking staring at him."  
  
His lips were twitching, and just watching Cid try to speak despite his laughter was making it harder to keep the reaction bottled.  
  
"So he holds out this sandwich. And Don, who might've kicked his ass at any other time for something this stupid, just starts laughing. And I'm just trying to get down the ladder without killing myself. We're both practically wetting ourselves, and this guy, he's really only a kid, starts to tear up. Poor fella thought he was in a lot of trouble, and he...he just says..." Cid's face was red now, and he was basically just trying to keep his breath. "'I didn't think this job was going to be so hard.'" And, finally finished, Cid nearly lay his head on the table, raspy laughter nearly leaving him helpless.  
  
And Vincent gave in to the shuddering of his lungs and laughed. Quietly, and then he put a hand to his mouth. And Cid, too far gone to do much more than point at him.  
  
"Fucking...laughing..." he managed, and Vincent closed his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure. Not that it really mattered, he supposed. Not anymore. But old habits died hard.  
  
And then the door was slammed open, and Shera burst in. Pale and shaking, mascara smudged under her eyes like dark circles. And Cid was suddenly on his feet.  
  
"Jeremy," he choked.  
  
But Shera only shook her head, and Vincent found himself meeting her eyes. And he saw the pity, the horror, the fear. And everything hardened in him for a moment. After all, hadn't a part of him been waiting for this? A woman he loved, pregnant with another man's baby. Doomed to repeat, until he'd finally learned his lesson. Really, it wasn't a surprise.  
  
But the walls weren't as strong now. Not strong enough to hold back everything, all of the things that were too big for his mind to wrap around at once. And he felt them roiling beneath the surface, licking at the drops that were escaping, howling for more. More, more, freedom.  
  
"It's Tifa."  
  
And he was crushing them back savagely, knowing on a basic, instinctual level that he couldn't let go.  
  
"She fell down some stairs. She's bleeding. I think there might be something wrong with the baby."  
  
His mind latched onto the words, distantly noting the important ones, but immediately inferring what hadn't been said. Not dead. And he knew he should have stayed.  
  
"Vincent!"  
  
An automatic response, and one too strong to be ignored.  
  
"Vincent, we've already called an ambulance! There's nothing you can do there!" Shera sounded desperate, following him to the door and then calling after him down the hallway, "We can take you to the hospital! Wait!"  
  
But he knew she would be looking for him, waiting for him. Crying, afraid and in pain. Strong face, but he'd seen her fragile and knew she would want his hand in hers. Wouldn't want to be alone, fearing for the baby. She was his anchor to the world. And he was her comfort, her rock, and her routine. And she would need him there.  
  
He got to the hall a moment before they lifted her onto a stretcher. Noted the blood on the loose skirt she'd put on that morning, the red smudged pillow and blanket someone had brought for her, saw that she was unconscious. Glanced at the pale faces of the people he didn't really know, some of them looking at him now. Cloud looking at him.  
  
And he felt angry. White-hot, blaming. Desperately struggled with the desire to give in to the emotion. Heard the voices of the others like whispers, until he could distinguish one from the other. Chaos, Galian, wanting blood and trying to fuel him into action. Into hate and revenge, and all of the mindless horrors he'd fought to balance in himself from the beginning, from the coffin. And then after Hojo's death. Fought, and finally gained victory over, for his own sanity.  
  
And he turned away.  
  
Followed the stretcher to the ambulance. Managed not to rip away from the hand that landed on his shoulder, holding him back.  
  
"I'm sorry. Not unless you're family."  
  
And the words came easily. Tifa, had she been awake, would've given him away with her look of shock.  
  
"I'm her husband." 


	10. The Waiting Room

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: The Waiting Room  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Wow, three chapters in three days! Good for me! It's nice to have time off. Too bad it ends tomorrow... Thanks for reviews!)  
  
'I guess you could say I'm a little afraid, I'm a little afraid. What if you go away? I've seen it before, I've been here before.' -- "I Can't Catch You", Sixpense None the Richer

* * *

People were swarming around him, doctors and nurses, clipboards and white coats and chopped bits of emergency lingo. She'd teased him about being claustrophobic, agoraphobic -- always avoiding crowds, the eyes and the accidental touch of strangers. The press and the noise and the chaos. And maybe she'd been right, though he'd scowled at her at the time and gone with her to the grocery store, if only to prove her wrong.  
  
But a grocery store was a far cry from a hospital. And despite the fact that few people had even spared him a glance so far, he felt very conscious of the claw and wished he'd brought his long coat to hide it. Not that he could really imagine any of these busy people stopping to ask him about it. But somehow he could imagine being pushed along by the crowd, ushered into a room. Locked. Strapped to a table. Shamefully naked, left vulnerable to drugs and hands and tools.  
  
The dreams didn't come so often now, but every once in a while Tifa still had to wake him before he pushed her out of bed.  
  
The crowd eventually dwindled some, and no one had said a word to him. And after a while, his pacing led him to the mouth of a waiting room. It wasn't empty, but he made himself sit down in a chair away from the other occupants. He was sweating, he realized then. And he felt sick. In the ambulance she'd looked so pale, and there had been so much blood. Holding her limp hand, he'd kept careful track of her pulse. And he'd tried not to think much beyond the thready beat of her heart beneath his fingers. Because to jump to the conclusions his mind had been uncomfortably ready to believe would've been too much to handle without screaming, hunting, killing.  
  
She'd accused him, too, of using the transformations as a kind of cathartic escape from problems. He'd denied it, but it was probably true. Most of his life was about escaping, he'd even admitted to himself once. It was the only way he could handle living.  
  
He didn't notice that he'd been staring across the room until a woman walked through his line of vision and lifted a little boy into the chair next to him. She then seated herself and, still holding the child's hand, rummaged for a book in her purse. The boy might've been six, he guessed with a quick glance. Sandy blond and fidgety. And he assumed the woman hadn't noticed his left arm, because in most cases that was enough to drive people to find other seats.  
  
The boy was staring at him, he knew even without looking. He could feel it, and strove to ignore it. Right now he wasn't in any mood to deal with children.  
  
And this made him stop, and then jerk away from the direction of his thoughts. In the ambulance, they'd been trying to stabilize her, find out what was happening. The baby was coming, someone had said, and something was wrong.  
  
Breach position, Tifa had told him after her most recent ultrasound, but there had still been time for it to right itself. In a week, if it hadn't, measures would've been taken.  
  
They would have a baby (assuming everything turned out all right). A baby, after this, and he would have to be in the mood for children.  
  
Staring at his arm, he realized. Leaning over a bit as if to catch a glimpse of the hand Vincent had draped between his knees. And as the child leaned forward, Vincent noticed the stub of the boy's right arm, gone at the elbow. And then, abruptly, the boy turned to his mother, sneakers skittering on the seat as he climbed onto his knees.  
  
"Mom. Mom."  
  
"Sit down, honey."  
  
"But, Mom..."  
  
"Sit."  
  
"Mom, can I have one like that?"  
  
"Sit down, Lawrence."  
  
"Look. Look, Mom. Can I have one like that?"  
  
She glanced over from her novel, Vincent saw, as she took her son's hand and brought it back to his side. "It's not polite to point, Lawrence."  
  
"But can I have one?"  
  
"No."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because you're going to get a different one."  
  
"But I want one like that!"  
  
"Shh."  
  
The boy sat down again with a pout and began to kick his legs out, knocking them against the legs of his chair. And then Vincent knew the child was looking again. And then those curious eyes were traveling from his arm up to his face. And he suddenly wished he'd brought something to read.  
  
Didn't like being observed. And, eventually, he forced himself to glance back, hoping the boy would shy from his notice.  
  
But, instead of turning away, the boy held his gaze, eyes darting over his face in young and curious uncertainty.  
  
Tifa had told him before, when he'd made an excuse of his appearance for his lack of social contact, that he wasn't all that different looking from everyone else. Red eyes were unusual, but not really frightening or bizarre. The claw was a little off-putting, but only because he often exuded waves of 'leave me alone, I'm having a bad day'. He was good-looking, she'd assured him. Attractive. If he just smiled a little more, talked a little more, she was sure people wouldn't be so uncomfortable.  
  
Another second and the boy looked away, finally self-conscious and probably realizing why it was rude to stare.  
  
And, after a momentary struggle, Vincent brought the clawed hand up until it was resting on his knee.  
  
The boy's eyes darted back at his movement, obviously interested. And then that uncertain gaze was traveling back up to his face, as if to make sure it would be okay to look.  
  
And it was. Vincent gave a slight nod, indicating his arm as he turned it palm up. And, with a small grin of surprised anticipation, and a squirm to get a little closer, the boy began to watch in unashamed fascination as the digits curled and uncurled at Vincent's compulsion.  
  
"Mr. Lockhart?"  
  
He glanced up into the doorway, recognizing the name, but not sure if they were looking for the person who had come with Tifa. A woman with a clipboard was scanning the room, a slight frown on her face.  
  
"Is there a Mr. Lockhart in here?"  
  
Since no one else was answering to the name, Vincent stood. The woman raised her eyebrows at him. "Tifa Lockhart's husband?"  
  
And he realized the obvious assumption, but let it go without correcting her.  
  
The woman beckoned him into the hallway. And he followed, trying to prepare himself for whatever news was coming. For a split second, tried to imagine life without her.  
  
Alone. Thinking about what he might've done, should have done. Knowing...knowing he would never see her again...  
  
Then the woman stopped and turned to him, her face terse but professionally unreadable. "I'm Doctor Waitheskin, the doctor who's been working on your wife." She held out her hand. And Vincent quashed a couple of things inside of him to shake it briefly. "We had to do a cesarean section to deliver your son," she began quietly. "He's a few weeks early, but other than that he came through without any problems. He's been taken down to the natal ward and put in an incubator."  
  
A part of him knew he should have been taking this in with more attention, if only because Tifa would want to know when she woke up. But, in the end, it wasn't the baby who concerned him. When the doctor paused, however, he forced himself to nod in understanding, impatient for the rest.  
  
"Now, your wife..."  
  
He took a breath, suddenly aware of the clenched weight where his stomach usually sat.  
  
"...is in critical condition for the time being. She lost a lot of blood due to hemorrhaging, and we had to do some surgery to remove the pieces of one of her ribs. She's also cracked the back of her skull."  
  
He felt momentarily unsure of how to react, lost in the idea of her in surgery, her life in the hands of strangers whose lives were basically unchanged by the deaths of their patients.  
  
"However, I don't think there's anything to really worry about. Her heartbeat's strong, and her broken rib didn't threaten any of her organs. The real danger was for your son." The doctor smiled at him quickly. "Right now, we're going to bandage up her head, and if you want to visit your son we can page you once she's been placed in a room."  
  
He nodded, distantly aware that he could be relieved now, yet not sure he was ready to take himself off his guard. And when the doctor pointed him toward the natal ward, he simply started walking. 


	11. Fatherhood

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Fatherhood  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Here I am again! Thanks for reading, and for reviews! They mean so much!)  
  
'God sends children for another purpose than merely to keep up the race - to enlarge our hearts; and to make us unselfish and full of kindly sympathies and affection; to give our shoulds higher aims; to call out all our faculties to extended enterprise and exertion and to bring round our firesides bright faces, happy smiles, and loving, tender hearts.' -- Mary Howitt

* * *

The hospital had been logically laid out -- well-labeled wards, directional signs hung at every intersection – and Vincent was grateful to have little problem locating incubation. As he entered the room, a woman glanced up from behind the glass of a closed off cubicle to look at him. He waited for the inevitable flash of unease, the silent, wary observation, the immediate supposition that a man like him should have nothing to do in a place like this.  
  
However, she only gave him a cursory inspection before turning back to her paperwork. And, for a split second, as his attention was drawn to the two adjacent, occupied incubators, he was almost sorry not to have the excuse of an obstacle.  
  
Statistic cards in the plastic casings identified one of the babies as 'male, Lockhart'. And Vincent looked in, wondering if every day after this would be easier.  
  
He was small, red, sleeping. Half covered by a yellow blanket and completely unaware of his observer. And Vincent couldn't help thinking: not his. This wasn't his son. Tifa's and a stranger's son. The child he had agreed through silence to help raise. And now it seemed insanity to have thought he could do this.  
  
Tifa had promised to be there, had almost convinced him that no one was ever really prepared. Though he could very well believe at this point that part of him had been in denial of the truth, because he'd wanted to stay, wanted her to be happy, wanted to give her what other men could. Despite the fact that he could barely remember his life before Shinra, even less his own parents or childhood. He had no model to work from, he thought with a brief flash of regret toward the tiny, vulnerable individual in front of him.  
  
Tifa, at least, had had a choice. Had willingly chosen him, knowing who he was, what he was. This baby had no choice. He was its father now. He, who had been a trained killer, who had to rely on blood for control of his body, who had so far proven that he was not even to be trusted with plants. He who had lived most of the last few decades hidden away in one way or another.  
  
An exemplar shadow for the boy to grow in, no doubt.  
  
He sensed the approach before he noticed Cid in the doorway.  
  
"Shera's checking the waiting rooms. I figured you might be down here." The pilot hadn't entered. Not denying that he had come looking, but willing to leave if Vincent didn't want to be bothered.  
  
But Vincent was simply waiting. Waiting for reality, for life to start again, for the page that would bring him to Tifa's bedside. And knowing that the best thing for now was probably to ground himself in something that was at least a little familiar.  
  
"The baby okay?"  
  
Vincent nodded and didn't object when Cid took the response as an invitation. Came to stand on the other side of the incubator and peered in.  
  
"Fuck, he's small. How early was he?"  
  
Small talk, Vincent realized, to avoid the real question. And for a moment he was angry at being tip-toed around, though the feeling faded quickly enough. He'd lost a lot of things, and Cid didn't have to be here. He imagined losing two lovers in one lifetime, both to that strange, love-triangle'd fate, both pregnant with children that were not his, was just about the most pathetic thing he could think of.  
  
Gave in and did a few calculations in his head. "Four weeks."  
  
"Mm." Cid nodded a little and rocked back on his heels, pushing his hands into his pockets. And then he sighed heavily, and Vincent was grateful that the charade hadn't lasted any longer. "Look, I don't mean to be tactless, but I don't know how else to ask."  
  
Vincent didn't need him to ask. It wasn't a hard answer, though he almost couldn't believe it himself until he'd seen her. "She's going to be fine."  
  
And Cid blew out a long breath. "Good. 'Cause I didn't know what the hell I was going to say if she wasn't."  
  
There were a few moments of silence, and Vincent suddenly felt it was time to get out of here. Time for that page over the intercom. Time for Tifa to know she was a mother, for her to embrace the news with a contagious love for life and hope for the future. So that he might somehow pull himself into believing that what he couldn't handle alone they could handle together.  
  
"Did you know it was going to be a boy?"  
  
Vincent came out of his thoughts to realize he was looking into the incubator, at his son. Resisted the urge to take an anxious breath and nodded. At first Tifa had wanted the surprise. But, by the third month, the surprise had no longer been worth her curiousity.  
  
"Picked a name?"  
  
And he was tempted to smirk a little as he shook his head. He had been no help in that department, Tifa had discovered soon enough. And by the twentieth name or so, when he still hadn't expressed any particular excitement, she'd finally stopped suggesting them to him.  
  
Cid gave a small chuckle. "God, you guys were prepared. Like you were just waiting to turn around and find out she was stuffing pillows up her shirt."  
  
And Vincent couldn't help the quirk of his lips. Glanced up. "So I assume that to feel as if you're staring down a loaded gun is fairly customary."  
  
Cid grinned suddenly and nodded. "Oh yeah. And don't expect Tifa to be any help. It's all our fault, I guess. Shera wouldn't even let me touch her for the first couple of weeks."  
  
It wasn't his child, but Cid didn't know that. Didn't know that Tifa would never become pregnant by him. And Vincent enjoyed, for a moment, the distinction of being just like every other first-time father in the history of the universe.  
  
"I'm sure I'll survive."  
  
"Say that now, but you'd better keep that shower runnin' cold." Grinning again, completely insolent. "No more nuzzling on the rooftops."  
  
But Vincent had far outgrown any feelings of stuffy embarrassment at particulars of the human condition. And any that had survived through the Turks, (through the horror and shame of everything else), had been pitilessly flattened by Lily. He simply smiled a little and shook his head. And Cid laughed, probably remembering the flip-off he'd gotten for his earlier remark.  
  
And then the intercom crackled to life overhead, summoning Mr. Lockhart. Room one-oh-six.  
  
And Vincent turned for the door.  
  
Cid caught up with his stride in the hallway. "Tifa?"  
  
He nodded a little.  
  
"Uh, correct me if I'm wrong here, but doesn't the woman usually take the man's last name?"  
  
But Vincent merely shrugged. No conventionality to his life as it was, and there wasn't likely to be any in the future. Only what he managed to construct for the public eye, what he managed to forget about in his personal life. Marriage was a convention that seemed false to him, created for people he no longer really belonged among. He had no ring finger that would fit a wedding band, and there was no 'lifetime of love' involved for him. Even the 'til death to us part' rang hollow.  
  
And who took who's last name was an even greater triviality, considering that Valentine meant very little to him in terms of identity or family.  
  
An interesting thing, in the end, he realized. To think there might be some shame in losing something he'd already lost long ago in exchange for something so much more significant to him.  
  
Because it would still belong to her in his memory long after she was gone.

* * *

She was sleeping when the nurse opened the door for him. Hooked up to a heart monitor, though he could hear as he entered that her pulse was steady and strong. Head well bandaged, but her skin was no longer so waxy pale. Injured, but healing. She was going to be fine. The relief he'd been so reluctant to embrace finally flooded over. Breathing easier, as if he'd been holding his breath up until this point.  
  
He pulled a chair from the wall and sat beside the bed. And then, with nothing in the world more important to do, simply settled in to wait for her.


	12. Waking From Dreams

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Waking From Dreams  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(I actually finished this chapter yesterday after fighting with it through the whole thing, but I was very unsatisfied with it. And then, this morning, I sat down and looked at it. And completely rewrote it -- it was all there in my mind. Strange. Sometimes it's just a waiting game. Thanks again, everyone, for reading and for reviews! blows sloppy kisses)  
  
'Honesty is the only way with anyone, when you'll be so close as to be living inside each other's skins.' -- Lois McMaster Bujold

* * *

The dream was really a part of a memory at first. But, like a flickering candle, not quite bright enough to wake her to the fact that it was a dream. Doing the actions as she faintly remembered doing them...  
  
Arriving home and cursing as she fumbled her keys. Wretchedly upset over the large, brown stain down the front of her blouse...  
  
Vincent glanced up from the counter as she entered, halting what he'd been doing. Carrots, her mind prodded seamlessly. He was cutting carrots, making supper.  
  
And she couldn't help smiling in sudden weary relief, glad she wasn't going to have to fix anything tonight. "Oh god, I love you." Closed the door quickly, as if to firmly shut out the rest of the world. "I had the worst day."  
  
And though she suddenly remembered that he probably had the monopoly on 'worst days', he didn't say anything about it. Simply addressed the stain on her shirt with his eyes. "Coffee?"  
  
And she finally felt able to laugh about it, her favourite blouse -- the tension rolling off her shoulders as she shrugged out of her coat. "Yeah, I got some on my break and managed to get elbowed in the arm at the register." Pulled off her shoes and threw them into the closet. "Guess where my double latte landed."  
  
"Not on the other person, I'm assuming." He turned back to the carrots, continued cutting. Sleeves rolled up, a half finished mug of tea beside him. Sometimes, she'd noticed, mundane chores almost seemed to relax him. "Did it burn you?"  
  
"No. Not really." Sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Never so bad as it could've been, right? When her worst day was not watching Nibelheim burn, but having coffee spilled on herself. And she walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist. Snuggled into his back as he continued with the carrots. He always managed to put it all into perspective. "That was the worst part, you know."  
  
"What was?"  
  
"That the guy who elbowed me didn't so much as get a drop on himself, and he didn't apologize."  
  
"How terrible."  
  
"It was terrible. You could at least fake a little sympathy."  
  
And in reality, the memory continued with Vincent finally turning in her arms to hug her. Everything forgotten for a few moments as they'd moved into a few leisurely kisses.  
  
But the dream veered off at this point, and somewhere in her subconscious she realized it. No reason to be uneasy, though, she realized vaguely, as Vincent continued to cut carrots.   
  
Though the stain was wet, and growing. She could feel it oozing down her body, between her legs. And eventually it was too uncomfortable for her to tolerate anymore.  
  
"I'm starting to think getting that coffee was a bad choice," she commented to him absently.  
  
"You should have stuck with tea."  
  
And she knew it. But coffee was addictive, and hard to give up completely.  
  
Suddenly in the bedroom, and she opened the closet door and began to rummage through her clothes. Eventually found a shirt she liked and pulled it out. But...  
  
She knew it immediately for a part of her maternity wardrobe. And there was coffee on it, too. A big brown stain, dry and crumbling on her fingers.  
  
But it wasn't coffee, she began to realize as she held it. It was blood.  
  
Blood on the clothes she was wearing now. Blood on her stomach, between her legs, dripping to the floor. Blood, and she wondered how she would ever wash it all out. Really shouldn't have ordered a coffee. Should've stuck with tea. Because now there was blood on her hands.  
  
And it was all her fault, she was beginning to remember in horrified stillness. Something very wrong. Wrong with the baby -- lying on the floor and knowing the labour was wrong, all wrong. And if only she'd listened to Vincent in the first place, she wouldn't have followed Barret, talked to Cloud, fallen down the stairs...  
  
And she was crying as she came suddenly awake.  
  
And further unsettled by the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. Not their bed, or their walls, or their ceiling. And something beeping obstinately beside her until she couldn't pass it off as a residue of the nightmare.  
  
Hospital, she eventually began to recognize. And she ached everywhere, in her chest, in her head. In her stomach. And she immediately touched her abdomen with hands that felt cold and bloodless. Still with its roundness, she realized, but something was undeniably different. Something was wrong.  
  
Something was gone.  
  
"Oh...oh no..."  
  
There was a stirring of breath and movement nearby, as familiar as if he was in bed beside her. And then Vincent was sitting up from where he'd been slouching in a chair, his fingers fumbling for a moment to touch her hand. "Tifa?" Voice soft and groggy, as if he'd been asleep.  
  
And she met his eyes for a moment, looking for the truth. Found only the vague shadow of worry in his features and wasn't sure how to interpret it. And then his expression was clouding with confusion at her scrutiny. "What's wrong?"  
  
And she looked back down at herself, at innocent beige blankets. Touched her abdomen through the starchy hospital gown and felt the numb padding of gauze. And knew for a certainty that there was no baby inside her anymore.  
  
"Vincent..." She felt suddenly sick, not sure she would be able to handle the truth. "...where's the baby?"  
  
And then his features were smoothing out in understanding, and he gently brushed his thumb over her knuckles. A simple gesture of comfort carried over from days when she'd felt justified enough in the weary discomfort of pregnancy to list all of her bitter complaints about it. After he'd learned that to say anything, especially anything that sounded even slightly placating, was to have it ungratefully thrown back at him. A gesture she'd learned to appreciate as much as his patience, and she knew, even before he spoke, that the baby had at least survived the accident.  
  
"He's in an incubator, in the natal ward."  
  
And she let out a sigh of relief. "God, I was dreaming. There was blood everywhere, and I was standing in our bedroom so afraid that I'd killed him."  
  
And he frowned a little, a corner of his mouth coming up in a kind of amused puzzlement. "That you'd killed him?"  
  
"Well..." She shrugged a little and gave him a smile. "By talking to Cloud. If I hadn't gone, I wouldn't have fallen down those stairs." And then she chuckled a little and squeezed his hand. "Should've stuck with tea."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Just a part of the dream. He was coffee and you were tea and...oh, nevermind. It was strange." And, as he seemed to try and process this, she lifted a hand to her aching head and felt the bandage. And grimaced a little, spent a moment twitching her limbs to make sure nothing was broken. "Did I crack my head?"  
  
He nodded briefly and she could feel his thumb now tracing one of her fingers. "And you broke a rib."  
  
She sighed a little and noticed again the twinge in her chest. "I think whatever painkiller they've got me on is starting to wear off."  
  
"Do you want me to call a nurse?"  
  
"No, not yet. They'll probably make you go away. I'm all right for now."  
  
"You should be sleeping."  
  
"No, I want you to tell me about the baby." And she smiled a little, trying to ignore the throbbing in the back of her head. "Did he have all of his fingers and toes?"  
  
"Well..." Vincent paused for a moment, glancing away as if he was trying to remember. "I didn't see his toes, but I assume I would have noticed if he was missing any fingers."  
  
She laughed a little and winced.  
  
"Tifa..."  
  
"No, please, I'm fine. Did he have any hair?"  
  
"I...I don't think so."  
  
And she frowned, couldn't help laughing again. "I probably shouldn't even ask about weight and height, should I?"  
  
And Vincent shook his head after a second, lips twitching with an obdurate smirk. "No, you shouldn't."  
  
"And I thought you were so good with details."  
  
Half annoyed, half amused by her teasing, and he gave in gracefully. "Obviously not the important details."  
  
A momentary silence followed and Tifa laced their fingers together. Let her smile become gentler as she decided it had to be said. "Sorry if I scared you. I tell you to trust me, and then I throw myself down the stairs."  
  
And he gave a quick shrug. "You're all right. That's all that matters."  
  
And she looked into his eyes, tried to see the shadow of something she was sure had to be lurking in there somewhere. "Is it?"  
  
And sometimes, when things were subdued like this, it was easier to be honest. His expression faltered a little and she waited, steeled herself for the argument.  
  
"You're not going to like it."  
  
And she gave her own awkward shrug, stiff with a little pain. "If you don't say it now..." She left the rest unsaid.  
  
He gave a slight nod and looked at their hands. Pursed his lips. "Did he push you, Tifa?"  
  
And she took a breath. Here it was. "No, Vincent. He didn't. I was walking out of the room, away from him, and when he touched my shoulder to turn me around I backed up and slipped down the stairs."  
  
He seemed to analyze this for a moment, as if there might be something suspicious about it. And she struggled with the brief desire to become angry that he wouldn't simply trust that she knew.  
  
"Are you sure he didn't mean for you to fall?"  
  
And that broke it open, as much as she didn't want to fight right now. "Vincent..." Shook her head and scowled at the blanket for a second before meeting his eyes steadily. "He's not a murderer. I know he didn't do it on purpose."  
  
But Vincent was looking back at her, his eyes hardening. "It's not difficult to guess why he's wanted to talk to you," he started softly. "You've wanted to talk to him, I haven't gotten in your way. But don't protect him."  
  
And she rolled her eyes, threw all of the rules to the wind. "I'm not. There's no reason for you to be jealous, I'm not interested...."  
  
"This isn't about jealousy." And it wasn't often that he interrupted her. His hand had slipped out of hers at some point and was now clenched into a fist at the edge of the bed. "I don't want us to stay here if he's a danger to you."  
  
"But, Vincent..." And there were simple complicating factors he didn't know about, she was realizing. "The clinic in Nibelheim doesn't have a ward for premature babies."  
  
But that only set him back for a moment. "Then we'll go to Kalm."  
  
"But that's so far..."  
  
"Tifa." And he was staring at her so hard, almost glaring. "If he's responsible for your fall, I don't want you to be anywhere near him. And I don't want to take the risk of simply believing he's innocent."  
  
And now her head was pounding and she put a hand to the bandage, not wanting this to go on. Could sense the change in Vincent's posture as he sat back, as he accepted that the argument was over for now. "I'm going to call the nurse." Voice soft, and almost apologetic.  
  
"Okay."  
  
He stood and began to head, without a word, for the door.  
  
"Vincent, wait."  
  
He stopped. Turned after a moment to look at her, no longer so angry.  
  
And she tried to smile a little. "I love you."  
  
He seemed to swallow, the edges of his mouth softening. And in a moment he was by the bed again. Leaned down and she accepted his kiss on her lips, and then her forehead.  
  
"Get some rest."  
  
And then he was out the door.


	13. Choices

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Choices  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Sorry, not much happening in this chapter. Just filler, basically, until I can get to the next plot point, and just to establish a couple of things. Yup. Sorry it's short, too. And that it took me a few days. And...wait, nope, that's everything. Thanks for reading and reviews! Love you all!)  
  
'The self is not something ready-made, but something in continuous formation through choice of action.' -- John Dewey (1859 - 1952)

* * *

Vincent was leaving the hospital. With Tifa resting in her room and the son who was not his son sleeping in the natal ward, untouchable for more reasons than simply the presence of the incubator, he had no reason to stay any longer. Had no reason to be anywhere else, either, but at least he could smoke most other places. And right now, that was a strong enough reason to leave.  
  
As he walked through a corner waiting room, heading for a staircase he recognized from earlier, he happened to glance up. A strange thing, since he hadn't been paying any attention to his surroundings until then, but perhaps something had alerted him. Something barely familiar -- a breath of a scent, a sound, a subconscious glimpse out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Cloud was hunched in a chair, one hand making finger tracks through his hair. And, almost against his will, Vincent recalled the boy-leader they had all listened to.  
  
Sometimes in over his head, trying to stop the world from going to hell with a only group of nebulous followers for help. But always fueled, always a strength of hatred, of revenge, spurring him on. Spurring them all on. Like a stench radiating off of him, and it had probably been so complicated.  
  
He'd probably ended up looking to the General, a man Vincent had seen once as a baby, and only heard stories about afterward -- a fairly cold man, brought up in the atmosphere Vincent himself had breathed in that basement coffin for thirty dissipated years -- for the guidance he hadn't had from a father. And then betrayed by the same man, and left searching for something to hold onto in a world that had probably seemed constantly and unchangeably precarious.  
  
Always searching, and revenge never brought everything back. Not even love could do that. And Vincent could almost relate. Could almost feel a sort of pity.  
  
Almost. Except for the fact that he never would have forced Lucrecia to feel guilt for the love that had failed. Even for the pain she'd caused him, he'd never accused her. Never would've abandoned her the way Cloud had abandoned Tifa, no matter how it had ripped him apart inside. And never would have put himself in her path again if he'd found her living happily somewhere. Would never have let his search for peace make him selfish enough to ruin her life.  
  
And that was the difference between them. What made Vincent angry enough to continue walking past when Cloud looked up at him, features lined and haggard with worry.  
  
"Is she all right?"  
  
Made him angry enough to ignore him completely.  
  
"Vincent, I just want to know if she's all right!"  
  
But Vincent knew what Cloud really wanted. And sometimes, in a moment of anger when you knew you would never get what you wanted, you could do terrible things. You could decide that if you couldn't have her, no one would. Vincent had known those shameful feelings, once upon a time.  
  
But he would never have been so weak, so selfish. Maybe he'd done a lot of things in his life that were unforgivable. Maybe it had been his hesitation that had killed Lucrecia, when it had been too late to try and save her. But at least he knew he hadn't pushed her to it.  
  
That was something Cloud could feel guilty about, even if he hadn't caused her accident on the stairs. He had taken away a younger Tifa's happiness, health and desire to live. And now he seemed ready to try and convince her to leave a life where she'd found some peace, some happiness, to fulfill his own selfish hope -- the hope that, this time, it might be what he needed to be whole. And he didn't even seem to realize that he was doing it.  
  
They were going to leave, Vincent had decided. Once it was possible, they were going to leave North Corel. Leave this all behind them. Because Tifa -- so vital, and both stronger and more fragile than she herself probably realized -- deserved so much more than that.  
  
And he started down the hospital staircase without a backward glance. Because there was no reason for any of them to be looking backward.  
  
Cloud didn't follow him. But Cid met him outside.  
  
"She's awake?"  
  
Vincent shook his head. "She was in some pain. She needs her rest."  
  
"Poor girl." He was staring at the emergency entrance, puffing leisurely on a cigarette as he watched a group of paramedics perform their orderly scramble to get a woman on a stretcher out of the back of an ambulance. She seemed young and she was giving some disoriented whimpers as they moved her. "Must be a hard job," he commented quietly. "Life and death, in and out everyday, and you're just tryin' to get your paycheck so you can go home and kiss your wife and feed your kids."  
  
He hadn't had a wife and kids, no one to feed or shelter but himself. But, in the end, most of the time being a Turk had simply been a job, just a paycheck. Just life and death, clocking in and out everyday.  
  
But then he could also remember smoking sometimes on his balcony in the early, early morning, looking out over the parts of Midgar he could see. And smirking at the idea of all of the families, all of the children and mothers and fathers who took it all completely for granted. All of the false security in front of him, all of the false immortality. All at the mercy of his employer. And sometimes, in that gray area after he'd arrived home, before he'd finished his cigarette and had gone to bed, it had gotten to him.  
  
"Vince?"  
  
Even then, amidst the jokes of some of the others -- jokes made mostly out of jealousy or fear, when even co-killers had been disgusted by his detachment -- it had gotten to him. Some of them were old, old nightmares.  
  
"Vince, you okay?"  
  
And he took a breath. "A hard job," he admitted quietly, "to see evidence of your own mortality everyday."  
  
And then there was another, older woman being helped out of the ambulance. The girl's mother, maybe, crying and holding the hand of one of the paramedics as he led her into the hospital after the stretcher. And Vincent caught the moment between them as the man leaned down to say something to the woman, and the woman nodded and shifted her grip on his arm a moment before glancing at him. Maybe gratefully. And then they were gone from sight.  
  
"But it probably has its rewards."  
  
Cid took another drag, still looking after the man and woman. "Yeah, I guess."  
  
And Vincent felt the subtle shift, knew the change in routine, in his recent emotions, had wreaked some havoc on his internal schedule. Knew he would have to go hunting again, just to be sure. Knew it would have to be soon.  
  
And wondered if someday it would be about more than the blood and the paycheck. Because he'd had to admit some pleasure in knowing Lily was proud of him for getting rid of the monsters around Kalm and Nibelheim. It was a job of life and death, to be sure, but now on the acceptable side of the spectrum. And strange that he'd never thought about it like that before.  
  
"They're going to be making supper soon." Cid took a last drag and flicked the spent butt into the grass. Squinted at the sky, and Vincent had a feeling it was an old piloting habit. "You wanna make an appearance? Reeve's supposed to be leaving tonight."  
  
And Vincent thought about it for a moment and shrugged a little. Pulled out a cigarette and rolled the question around on his tongue for a second or two before deciding to ask it. Even though he knew it was the kind of question that people tended to reciprocate.  
  
Tifa had told him once. And he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it then. But he knew now she'd been right. He couldn't hide forever.  
  
"What do you do in Rocket Town?"  
  
Cid turned to him suddenly. Surprised, Vincent thought, by the personal venture on his part.  
  
And then the pilot smiled and reached for his own package of smokes. Banged one out into his palm and slipped it between his lips. "Careful, Vince." Muttered around the cigarette, and then he was reaching for his matches. Held the flame out when he was done so Vincent could light up. "Someone might start to think you're lookin' to have a conversation."  
  
And though Vincent made no reply, he learned more about planes and spare parts on the way back to the hall than he would ever have cared to know.  
  
And Cid learned about a way of hunting that had nothing to do with guns. 


	14. Understanding

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Understanding  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Hello again! I can see the end approaching! A couple more chapters, I think, and an epilogue, hopefully. Thanks to all of you for reading and for reviewing! Truthfully, I think this fic is going to be my last sojourn into the writing part of Fanfiction.net. Don't quote me, but I have a feeling. Life is starting to intrude as summer continues, and I can't hide from it forever! But you've all been a great, encouraging audience, and I've really enjoyed myself. Thanks!)  
  
'The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself.' -- Mark Twain (1835 - 1910)

* * *

It was the early evening. Vincent had come back once, smiling and apologetic, to kiss her and let her know he had to leave for a couple of hours. Hunting, she knew, and she'd squeezed his fingers and let him go, content to be left alone with a good dose of painkillers and a book lent to her by a sympathetic nurse, since they wouldn't let her walk down to the natal ward. Halfway through chapter three, however, there was a knock at the door to her room that was too early to be Vincent -- and too bold to be Cloud, though she'd been half expecting him since Vincent's departure.  
  
She sighed a little and put the book down beside her. "Come in."  
  
And Barret entered with his usual unassuming brashness, giving her a brief once-over before closing the door behind him. "Tif." He moved toward the chair Vincent had occupied hours ago, but he didn't sit down. Feeling partially responsible, she read in his stiff body language, but he'd obviously made up his mind to come and see for himself that she was all right. In the end, his conscience had a booming voice that might've rivaled his own in volume.  
  
"Gonna be okay?"  
  
A simple question, like a greeting, but it brought to mind a particular time he'd asked it before, years ago. And it made a part of her ache suddenly for that camaraderie, that security, even in the midst of so much danger and uncertainty.  
  
They'd brought Cloud with them, back to Seventh Heaven -- a strange, unexpected visit from her past, and with it an unprecedented jolt to her heart -- and she'd been at the bar until long after midnight, thoughtfully polishing shot glasses. And he'd known. Had sat himself down on a stool with a grunt of tired muscles. _"Gonna be okay, Tif?"_  
  
And, of course, she'd nodded. Always the tough one. Not fool enough to let herself fall for a boy-turned-man she hardly knew and could hardly get a full sentence out of.  
  
"Yeah, I'll be all right."  
  
But this time, Barret didn't seem ready to take her at her word. And she wondered what was going through his mind as he stood looking down at her, almost frowning his concern. Wondered if the accident (the fact that she'd been walking away from Cloud at the time) might've made him start to doubt the mercy of his mission.  
  
He didn't try to get any other answer out of her, though. He simply took a breath and, as if noticing the chair for the first time, sat down heavily beside her.  
  
"Don't need to tell you, you scared the livin' shit out of us."  
  
"Mm, sorry about that."  
  
And though a corner of his mouth quirked, she knew he was in no mood to be cheered up or brushed off. He wasn't looking at her, either, as he began to rub his large hand over what she presumed was an imaginary itch on his knee. So when he began to speak, she was fairly sure she was hearing the last and deepest drops of what had probably been an angry, moody storm to everyone else. She had often ended up being the one he talked to when weighty emotions had finally settled into thoughts.  
  
"I was always really proud of you, Tif," he began quietly, his voice the gruff rumble she had always loved, the one he'd used in confidence when they'd been alone and talking about hope despite all of the things they'd lost and lived through. A tone of voice she hadn't heard in a long time. "Always the brains and the sense behind all o' us. You an' Jesse. An' you were right about Cloud that day, saying he should be leader. You always seemed to see everything a step ahead."  
  
"Barret..."  
  
But he held up his hand, and she got the sense that he didn't want to be comforted. And she wondered for a second if he was trying to apologize, though she wasn't sure she could believe he might've given up so easily.  
  
"I didn't know about him at first, when you two settled down together. Myrna always told me it was hard bein' with a man who feels like he's got some responsibility out there waiting for him. Like Cloud did when he said he thought he might still be able to find Aeris. But when I saw you two at Cid's wedding..."  
  
He glanced up then, and she caught the slightly angry confusion in his expression a moment before he looked away with a breath. Shrugged his massive shoulders. "...you just seemed so happy. That's why I don't understand why you would leave 'im. You know, for Vincent. It's just...it's not like the Tifa I thought I knew, that's all I'm sayin'."  
  
And she remembered the night, standing in the street, chill forgotten in the shivering reality of the choice in front of her, between truth and self-deception -- with Vincent and Lily and Nibelheim like a warm, beckoning haven behind her. In the end, when it had mattered, she had not been indecisive. She had known what was right and what was wrong, and even Barret wouldn't have been able to shake her resolve at that moment.  
  
"I had to leave, Barret." She touched the barrel of the gun on his arm, knowing the gesture would reach him even if the warmth of her fingers didn't. Wanting to prolong the communication-conducive atmosphere long enough for him to hear her out. "I knew I couldn't live with him again until things had been worked out. I wasn't leaving him. I just needed time, or it would've been the same as it was before."  
  
He blinked once, and then he was leaning forward with all the appearance of being really and truly confused. "What you talking about? Live with him again -- weren't you livin' with him already?"  
  
And Tifa frowned, trying to understand what Barret was referring to. And felt a sudden, faint suspicion start to grow in her mind. "No, I...I was living in Nibelheim at that time. After Cloud left, I stayed in Kalm by myself for a year, and then I was in Nibelheim."  
  
And now he was scowling. "When was this?"  
  
She spent a moment trying to figure out the timeline before simply giving in to the slightly brain-fuzzing effects of the painkillers. "About a year after we moved in together. Didn't..." Suspicion growing stronger. "...didn't he tell you about that?"  
  
But Barret didn't answer her. "You're sayin' he left you first?"  
  
And everything was falling into place, though she didn't want to believe what it was all pointing to. Didn't want to think Cloud capable of this sort of deception. Though...   
  
Barret's 'betrayal', his anger at Vincent, the way some of them had seemed so surprised, so ready to blame Vincent when she didn't want to talk to Cloud. Of course it was justifiable, she supposed, if you believed that she'd been stolen away instead of abandoned and rescued.  
  
"Yes, he left me first. And then, I...well, I..." But she was hesitating on the rest. Barret didn't need to know about the bridge, she couldn't help feeling. It didn't matter. It was in the past, and she'd put it too far behind her to make it an issue again. So she carefully set it aside and continued. "Well, that's when Vincent found me and brought me to Nibelheim. It was only supposed to be temporary, until I could get my feet back under me, but..."  
  
She thought about Vincent. About seeing him for the first time in the daylight in his home. About poker, and beer, and shared glances, and one gasping kiss. About trust and conversations and prying him out of his shell. And finally about love and that first night in her apartment, on the cold and warming linoleum of her hallway.  
  
"But it didn't work out that way."  
  
Barret was looking at the blanket covering her as he frowned, maybe comparing the two stories he had been told and trying to decide what was more plausible. And then he glanced up and looked her in the eye.  
  
"Myrna was right, I guess," he mumbled.  
  
And she sighed, feeling relieved that she still had her old friend's trust. "I guess." Smiled a little and patted the metal of his gun. "I did love him, Barret. I loved him a lot. And I believe he loved me, too. But that wasn't enough. He was searching for something. And it wasn't a thing I could give him. As much as I wanted to, and as much as I tried to."  
  
There were a few moments of silence, and Tifa knew Barret was trying to come to terms with everything, with the idea that Cloud -- leader-Cloud, the young man he'd come to respect and admire, (the young man who had been so good at keeping a lot of his pain and uncertainty hidden away from everyone) -- might've lied to him.  
  
And Tifa knew his natural disposition was to label things either black or white, knew that if she didn't say anything Cloud would inevitably become an unsalvageable black piece on the board of Barret's mind. And knew, after a moment of debating with herself, that she couldn't just let it happen.  
  
"Barret, he might not have meant to keep you in the dark. It's true, I did leave Kalm with Vincent. That just wasn't the whole story."  
  
But Barret only shook his head. "I dunno. He let me think you left him, that Vincent was the one who put himself where he didn't belong. And it just didn't make sense to me, that you'd leave Cloud for Vince when you looked so happy b'fore. But now it makes sense, that Cloud'd lie so he could talk to ya..."  
  
And Tifa could feel that she was losing ground, though she wasn't ready to give up yet. Cloud had done a lot of things to hurt her, but she'd known, or suspected, from the beginning that it had all stemmed from ways he had been hurt before. Didn't justify it, exactly, but it let her understand where he was coming from. Why he had such a hard time trusting, and loving. And she wanted Barret to understand, too, before he passed judgment.  
  
"Barret, wait. You told me yourself, he's trying to put some things behind him. Maybe he just needed to feel he had someone on his side, and he was afraid you would turn him away if you knew the whole story."  
  
"Still shouldn't have lied, Tifa." And he stood, too stubborn and set in his ways to be swayed by a few words. "You want friends, you gotta be honest with 'em." And then he headed for the exit.  
  
"Barret, wait a minute..."  
  
"I'll see ya, Tif," he muttered as he opened the door, speaking over his shoulder. "Hope you're feelin' better." And then he left.  
  
And Tifa wanted to bury her head in her hands. Barret was too straightforward for her to be believe he wouldn't confront Cloud about this. And, as much as she wanted to think that Cloud might just do the honourable thing and simply leave to figure things out on his own, she couldn't convince herself. He was hurting, and he was alone, and would be more alone after this.  
  
And she'd been wrong before. He had changed in three years. Three years had brought him into hell, taken away most of his scruples.  
  
And she had no idea what she was going to say to him when he came into this room. And not sure if she should start to hope Vincent was back by then -- or if she should hope he wasn't. 


	15. Moving Forward

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Moving Forward  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Oops, almost a week since my last update. Been working and spending time with my sweetie, and in between I've been chipping away at this chapter. And now it's done. One or two more, I think, and then the epilogue. But we'll see what really happens. I'm never 100% sure. Again, thanks for reading and reviewing! You've all been so great and encouraging and wonderful, I'm not sure how to give a proper thank you. Thank you!!)  
  
"The world is full of people whose notion of a satisfactory future is, in fact, a return to the idealised past." -- Robertson Davies

* * *

Death Gigas was always the slowest. The slowest to transform -- sometimes the most painful for the same reason -- the slowest to hunt, the slowest to feed. And tonight, Vincent knew, was going to be a slow night. Each of them had a particular feel, a particular hunger, and Death Gigas had shuffled its way into his near-consciousness at the first whiff of trees and grass and nighttime air, its ponderous appetite an incontrovertible presence in his mind.  
  
Just making itself known, Vincent recognized. It had taken a little while of forcing the routine before they'd all resigned themselves, and now it was a fairly simple arrangement. They would all get to feed, but on Vincent's terms only. And, as long as he kept to a reasonably precise schedule, they were happy enough to leave him alone the rest of the time. Some things, he'd learned early on, were unarguably necessary.  
  
Even if it meant leaving Tifa by herself for a couple of hours.  
  
Though he had to admit that the timing was probably as good as it was going to get. Yuffie (as unassuming as ever, so that he'd found it hard to remain properly upset with her for the lie she'd told) had obligingly let him know that Cloud had left North Corel on a chocobo. Though not, he didn't have to guess, for good. If this was the same Cloud who had decided so fiercely that his revenge on Sephiroth would solve everything, he would not be easily persuaded that he was wrong on this count -- wrong in believing that he needed Tifa back in his life, and to hell with everyone else.  
  
So, as it was, all Vincent could do was hope he arrived back in North Corel before Cloud returned. Whether or not their once-leader had had anything to do with Tifa's accident, Vincent still didn't want her to have to keep facing her past this way. She could swear up and down that she could take care of herself, but there were some things he wouldn't stand for. Especially since it wasn't doing Cloud any favours, either. Nothing good could come out of digging through memories purposefully buried.  
  
And if they could avoid it until morning, maybe something could be arranged for a speedy departure to Kalm. Maybe Cid would be willing to assist them somehow...  
  
The evening was quiet, expectant. And without the shelter of more than a few scattered trees, Vincent simply did what he had done previously and crouched in the long grass before slowly, carefully, letting his guard down. And waiting for Death Gigas to take the opening.  
  
Tifa had sometimes asked him, in the beginning, for details. What was it like? Did it hurt? Could he still see, hear, feel things when he was transformed? The hardest part of his life, and she'd been remarkably upset over the fact that he never talked about it. It was like it didn't exist for him, she'd said, when they were together. Like he was trying to protect her, or because he didn't trust her.  
  
But that was so far from the truth. The truth was much simpler, and she'd actually identified it herself. It didn't exist for him when they were together. Not trying to protect her, exactly, or hide it from her. Just...able to forget, most of the time, when he was with her. Just able to pretend, and almost convince himself, that he was just a man. Merely the man she was in love with. And so wonderful to feel that way, it had been hard to regret even a little that he'd made her angry with his silence.  
  
Some things were unarguably necessary -- like the distinction in his life between human and twisted experiment. And she'd eventually stopped asking, maybe realizing the truth for herself.  
  
It hurt. Oh yes, it hurt. But most of the time it was over quickly enough, and, except for Chaos in the beginning (and still sometimes, when the cruel urge seemed to strike), there was no rape of his mind. A simple transfer of forms, and then Death Gigas was lumbering off in its freedom to scent after prey and slate its hunger both for food and for the intensity of the hunt.  
  
Sometimes it was even contagious, though he wasn't likely to admit that to anyone.  
  
It didn't take long for Gigas to choose its target. Slow to catch it, however, though the actual killing was done with a characteristically rough haste. And then the feeding, which Vincent had learned to distance himself from, as if he might've been watching from afar as one creature killed another for food. Sometimes the images, the scent lingered, sometimes strong enough he could almost taste it. But a shower and a return to normal life usually managed to remedy that. He was not the creatures. The creatures were not him. A simple, careful distinction.  
  
And soon this would be over, and he would be at Tifa's bedside again. Maybe he would even be allowed to spend the night in a chair beside her -- because he knew already that, wherever he spent the night, it wouldn't be in the room they'd rented. Because he rarely slept now if he had to sleep alone.  
  
The hardest part of his life, Tifa had said, changing into _them_, having to hunt and kill to sate them. But, if she wanted the truth, not even the transformations came close to the hell of feeling alone in a world that sometimes seemed on the very verge of slipping completely away from him. Nothing came close. And sometimes the touch of her skin in the night, the sound of a few sleepy, unintelligible words of comfort whispered against his throat, felt like they were the only barriers between him and the terrifying approach of time, the reality of his nightmares.  
  
Death Gigas was finishing its meal, and Vincent clocked the hunt at approximately forty-five minutes. Not bad. Full and satisfied, Gigas was often the easiest to persuade to relinquish its dominion, so it wouldn't be long before he was on his way back. Another few minutes, and Vincent would take the cue as Gigas turned away from the carcass, urging the creature to give in to the process of transformation. And, slowly, Gigas would.  
  
He was just preparing for the preliminary steps, taking advantage of Gigas' heightened senses to scan the area, when he realized that he was being watched.  
  
Cloud, he recognized. Cloud on a chocobo, no more than a hundred feet distant, observing him intently. On his way back to North Corel, and maybe he'd happened to spot him hunting. And stopped to judge him, perhaps, on this part of his life. Thinking, maybe, that Tifa deserved more than this monster at her side.  
  
But Vincent had come to terms with it, and Tifa had accepted him despite it. And Vincent knew that he was many things Cloud had not been to her, even if he was far from a perfect match.  
  
So, unashamed of what was unchangeable truth, not giving any particular attention or disregard to his audience, Vincent let the transformation occur. A minute or two of unavoidable vulnerability as he suffered through the pain of it, but when he'd finished Cloud had not moved. Still watching, as motionless and seemingly unaffected as a statue.  
  
And Vincent knew for certain what he'd suspected, even in his anger: Cloud was not a murderer. His jealousy and pain had not taken him into those depths, where the mind of cold, calculating killer could be forged. Because a real killer, with the heartless ability to push a pregnant woman down a flight of stairs, would have at least tried to use an exposed moment to get rid of his opposition.  
  
Simply confused and alone and hurting, trying to get back to a place where there had been at least a little bit of light. Understandable, yes; excusable, not entirely. He and Tifa would still be leaving.  
  
Then, abruptly, as if he had come to some decision, Cloud turned his mount around and headed briskly for North Corel.  
  
And, despite a momentary push from Chaos, with its hunger, with its speed, Vincent followed on his own two feet.

* * *

When Cloud knocked on her door, Tifa knew it was him. Knew his hesitation a moment before he put knuckles to wood. And she accepted it as unavoidable, though a part of her couldn't help but be a little relieved that he'd come before Vincent's return. She wanted this sorted out -- God, she wanted it sorted out -- because she knew it would weigh on her forever if it wasn't.  
  
She just wished now, when things were so twisted and there was no way to change them, that Cloud had gone about a more direct route of trying to talk to her. Because it certainly couldn't have turned out any worse that this, and it might even have been easier.  
  
"Come in."  
  
He entered slowly, his playfully windblown hair in complete contrast to the shadowed, serious features that seemed to get older every time she saw him. Once he'd closed the door, he approached the bed and, unconsciously mimicking Barret, though he eyed the chair he didn't sit down.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
And she smiled a little at him, not sure she could handle his guilt. "I'll be fine."  
  
"Good." He took a heavy breath and glanced around the white-washed walls. And then met her eyes, looking sincerely apologetic. "God, Tifa, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have followed you out of that room, or tried to grab your shoulder. I keep replaying the whole thing in my mind, thinking there must've been a way I could've kept you from falling..."  
  
"Cloud, it's all right. Stop punishing yourself." It was an almost automatic response, she realized only after she'd said it. Those things she'd said when he'd finally started apologizing for the bridge, and she determined that she wasn't going to slip into that again. "I'm fine, and the baby's fine. It was just an accident. Let's just put it behind us, okay?" Because that was the only way to move forward, and damned if that wasn't something he desperately needed to do.  
  
And he nodded a little and attempted a smile. "If you say so." And then he lowered himself into the chair.  
  
A small, uncomfortable silence followed. He didn't know what she was thinking, she expected, and he'd said all he was going to say. It was her turn to choose the direction and continue the conversation.  
  
And she took a breath. "Can I ask why you didn't just come to Kalm to talk to me?"  
  
He wasn't looking at her, hunched over with his arms on his knees, but she saw his shoulders heave a little with a sigh. Though he made no other move to answer.  
  
And after a few seconds, she pursued it, knowing he had more to lose than she by his silence. "Why get Barret and Yuffie involved? Why do this at a reunion? I'm not sure I understand why you'd want to make it so complicated."  
  
But he was shaking his head. "It wasn't supposed to be complicated," he said quietly toward his lap. "I came to visit Barret a few weeks ago because I'd lost my job and was hoping he could help me out. And when he asked about you..." He sighed again and sat up to look at her, his expression faintly helpless. "It just all came out. When I told him I wanted to talk to you, he suggested the reunion, and it seemed like a good idea."  
  
That sounded like Barret. He'd been the one with the good ideas. She and Jesse, more often than not, had been the ones to bang and temper it into some kind of workable shape.  
  
"I guess I thought you'd want to talk to me just as much, that if I could just get you away from Vincent for a little while..." He shrugged a little and trailed off, glancing away back into his lap.  
  
And she felt then that she should warn him. Looking so dejected and lost. "Have you talked to Barret since this afternoon?"  
  
He met her eyes again, puzzled by the question. "No. Why?"  
  
She quirked a corner of her mouth, not really a smile but not wanting to hit him with the truth. "He knows, now, that you didn't tell him the whole story. About Kalm."  
  
And Cloud closed his eyes for a moment, seeming both weary and resigned. And then he gave a soft, cheerless chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, I've fucked this up, haven't I? Fucked it all up."  
  
Before Tifa could reply, there was a soft knock at the door and a petite, female nurse entered.  
  
"Good evening, Mrs. Lockhart. How are you feeling?"  
  
And though Tifa blinked for a moment at the 'Mrs', she returned the smile. "Tired, but all right. Is it time for all visitors to leave?"  
  
"No, that's fine." The woman leaned down beside the bed to straighten her pillow, adjust the blankets a little. "But Dr. Waitheskin has cleared you for a short visit to the natal ward, if you'd like to see your son."  
  
"Oh." Despite herself, Tifa felt all of the symptoms of impending tears. "Yes, yes please, I want to see him."  
  
The nurse smiled indulgently before momentarily leaving the room and returning with a wheelchair. As she positioned it and readied herself to help Tifa out of the bed, however, Cloud stood and stepped toward them.  
  
"Do you need a hand?"  
  
Maybe noting the nurse's small stature, maybe just offering to oblige. Maybe nothing. But Tifa still shook her head with a smile. "That's okay, I think we should let her do her job."  
  
"I do this all day," the young attendant added helpfully. "I'm stronger than I look."  
  
And, despite the easy atmosphere, Tifa still saw the brief flash of old arguments flicker over Cloud's expression. She'd never needed him, he'd resented. Always independent, always wanting to do it herself, always pushing him away and getting angry when he'd tried to insist. Never completely content to let her do her own thing, because he'd wanted to do it together. Such a simple obstacle, but one they'd never managed to resolve.  
  
One that didn't exist with Vincent, because he had his own thing, too. Yet another reason, Tifa thought as she settled into the chair, for her to believe she was right where she was supposed to be.  
  
The nurse placed a blanket over her lap and turned the chair around. Smiled at Cloud.  
  
"But you can push her, if you want. Just follow the signs."  
  
And, after a moment, Cloud nodded and stepped up behind the chair to wheel her out of the room.  
  
And, Tifa couldn't help thinking as they started down the hall, this was the closest he would ever get to directing her future again. 


	16. Down the Drain

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Down the Drain  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Thanks, once again, for reading and reviews! This chapter came easier than the last one, and I'm actually kind of excited to be nearly done. Hope people have been enjoying the reading as much as I've enjoyed the writing! Thanks again!)  
  
"They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself." -- Andy Warhol (1928 - 1987)

* * *

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen -- and she almost couldn't imagine he had been the rambunctious weight in her stomach, the little presence she had sung to sometimes, the baby that she'd had some negligible hand in creating. Sleeping, with his tiny fingers curled into limp, unconscious fists, miniature whorls of dark hair already growing in loops against the thin red skin of his scalp -- he seemed both so vulnerable and so absolutely confident of his own safety, to be sleeping so soundly after having been ripped away from everything he'd known in her womb.  
  
And Tifa knew, as she looked at him, that there was nothing she wouldn't do to protect him from a world he didn't yet know how to mistrust. And wished she had Vincent beside her, so that she could grip his hand and share in his smile as she laughed in the joy and the fear and the fact that she couldn't stop crying.  
  
Cloud had stepped out from behind the wheelchair to peer into the incubator, but Tifa couldn't guess what he was feeling as he looked at her baby, the baby she and Vincent were going to raise. Anger? Resignation? Nothing? His expression was inscrutable.  
  
When he turned to look at her, however, she recognized the heavy lines of regret around his eyes.  
  
"This could've been us," he muttered softly.  
  
"Could've been," Tifa agreed, though she didn't want to imagine what would've happened if they'd tried to bring a baby into their relationship. Cloud would've stayed, things would've been hell, and if she'd ever bumped into Vincent on his way through Kalm he wouldn't have let her beyond that first wall, and she never would've known there was any other way to live.  
  
He turned back to the incubator, and Tifa waited, not impatiently, for the conversation to move around until they were talking about the past again. The past into the future.  
  
But Cloud seemed ready to wait, too, as if he wanted to hold onto this moment where they were just in the present. And she couldn't blame him for that, really.  
  
"Have you named him yet?"  
  
This was something she could talk about, she thought, without having to feel the pressure of so much unsaid. In fact, maybe if they'd been able to turn their attention to other things so long ago, instead of focusing on their pain, maybe things wouldn't have been so angry and silent by the end. Maybe they could've talked like this, quietly, kindly, like real people.  
  
Maybe he really had started to change, if they were able to talk like this now. Not that it changed circumstances, or her heart, but it gave her a little hope that he might really be able to move on, someday, and live happily despite grief and Hojo and so many misplaced memories.  
  
"Yes. Jordan."  
  
"After your father."  
  
And she smiled a little, warmed somewhere by the fact that he'd remembered. "After my father. Jordan Verder Lockhart."  
  
Cloud looked at her then, and the speculative question in his face said more than the question itself. "Not Valentine?"  
  
And she repressed a sigh. Maybe not so much change; not yet. "No, not Valentine. We decided the baby would keep my last name." That much, at least, Vincent had expressed some opinion on. "So I could keep the family line going."  
  
Cloud made no comment. But Tifa knew without having to wonder that it was something he wouldn't ever have completely accepted, even if he'd said yes to her. He'd always been looking, searching for someone to complete him, to merge with, to lose himself in. And, in the end, she had been too much her own person, too set in her own individuality to give herself up entirely to anyone. Had he ever asked, presented her with a ring, the name 'Strife' would've been very appropriate.  
  
He shifted his weight a little, and then stood away from her son. And Tifa waited for it to start again.  
  
"So, have you thought about what I said?"  
  
And wasn't disappointed, though she wasn't going to just fall into this again. "What part of what you said?"  
  
She saw him purse his lips, a little angry at the obvious distancing tactic. But she held his gaze when he glanced at her and waited for him to clarify.  
  
This wasn't theirs; it was his. And she wanted him to know it.  
  
After a moment's pause, he gave in with a short sigh. "About being a part of each other's lives again, even if it's only a little part. Just so we don't have any doubts about this."  
  
But she was automatically shaking her head. "Cloud, I don't have any doubts..."  
  
"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you haven't wondered sometimes about us. If it might've worked if things had been a little different. I've changed, Tifa, and you've changed. Maybe now..."  
  
And she almost couldn't believe he was really saying what she was hearing. "Cloud, how many times do I have to say it? I'm in love with Vincent. I have another life now, and I'm happy. I want to help you, but..."  
  
"But what? You'd rather be with someone who, in thirty years, is going to look more like your son than your..."  
  
"Cloud!" Something she never would've done before. Her first impulse a few years ago would've been to flee into another room and lock the door.  
  
And, angry though he was, he turned to look at her. And she knew he knew that he'd been speaking out of line.  
  
If only she'd had a backbone back then, she thought ruefully. If only she hadn't felt as if so much had been lying on the line. Things might've been so different.  
  
His longevity was actually something Vincent had tried to discuss with her once, in the beginning. Her head on his chest, his fingers tracing the lines of her back, and a conversation he'd obviously not wanted to start. But had known needed to be addressed before things had gone further.  
  
Though, in the mood she'd been in, too in love to worry about the particulars until they were on the doorstep, she'd simply answered his concerns with a vicious raspberry to the stomach. And she'd managed to get halfway to the living room before he'd tickled her to the floor.  
  
"I love him and I'm not going to leave him. That's all you need to know." And she saw the lines around Cloud's eyes and mouth tighten suddenly, though he didn't interrupt her. "If you want to be a part of my life..." She took a breath and shrugged, simply giving voice to the truth. "...you can't still want to be with me that way."  
  
And that was simply the final word.  
  
Cloud stared at her for a moment before his features contorted with a scowl, angry and faintly helpless. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to do, then?"  
  
"Move on." It was the only way.  
  
"I told you, I've already tried..."  
  
"Try harder." But her voice was sympathetic and she was smiling at him. "Don't put so much on the past. Look somewhere unexpected. Talk to a therapist, if you have to. Just..." And she gave another quick shrug. "...just realize that this is something I can't fix for you. You have to fix it yourself."  
  
Still scowling, but not looking at her now. Still angry, but thinking, though she couldn't tell what he might be thinking about. What she'd said, maybe? What he might do next to try and convince her? It was impossible to tell.  
  
And then Vincent was approaching through the door, though it was Cid's boots on the linoleum that made them turn their heads.  
  
A particular look that Tifa couldn't help but notice, like the recognition of something, or maybe a kind of challenge, seemed to pass between Vincent and Cloud. But it only lasted for a second before Cloud glanced away.  
  
"I should go," he murmured. "I'll talk to you later, Tifa."  
  
She didn't reply, not sure what else they had to talk about. And Cloud headed out of the room without a word to anyone else.  
  
"What the hell did he want?" Cid wondered loudly, obviously not caring whether or not Cloud heard him.  
  
"Just to talk," Tifa answered, looking to Vincent, half expecting some anger. But there was only that resigned trust, and then the flicker of a smile. Relieved, she lifted a hand into his and squeezed his fingers. "It went okay?"  
  
"It went fine." And then his expression warned her of something a moment before he said it. "Cid should be able to take us to Kalm tomorrow morning, if you want. The hospital is willing to transfer the baby for us."  
  
The 'if you want', she had a feeling, was merely a formality. But Vincent had been right somewhat about Cloud. Though he wasn't dangerous, he wasn't going to give up, and she wasn't sure anything could be resolved this way. It was time to go.  
  
"All right."  
  
And she smiled at the look of faint surprise on his face, knowing he hadn't expected to win her agreement quite so easily.  
  
"Early tomorrow," he continued after a moment. "Perhaps around seven."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Her smile grew as he frowned, his confusion surfacing. "You were against going to Kalm this morning."  
  
"Yes, but now I'm not." Sometimes it was fun to baffle him. "Were you looking forward to a nice, drawn out argument?"  
  
He seemed to be searching for some sort of response to that when Cid drew their attention to the incubator.  
  
"He's awake."  
  
And he was. Tiny Jordan's eyes were open and he was staring upward with all the appearance of being completely absorbed in his surroundings. And then in the faces.  
  
"Oh." Tifa felt her eyes start to prick with tears again as she leaned as far forward as she could. "Oh, hello there."  
  
"Big eyes," Cid commented. "Look at 'em. I think..." And he was drifting closer. "Fuck, I think they're different colours."  
  
And Vincent began to lean down to take a closer look, too.  
  
"One's green and one's blue," Cid continued. "Hopefully your naming him something good or he's gonna have one hell of a time in school."  
  
And, watching Vincent so intent on their son, Tifa couldn't help it. "We're naming him Vincent Jr."  
  
She almost couldn't hold onto her composure as Vincent straightened abruptly from the incubator to look at her. Almost glaring. "No, Tifa..."  
  
And she scoffed at him. "Hey, you didn't want to help with naming him, you left it up to me. Don't go changing your mind now."  
  
She could almost see the war this started in his mind. In his very body language as he stood, tensed, weighing her argument against his own sense of aesthetics. And she almost wanted to make the moment last a little longer, maybe until they got around to christening him, but she relented and slowly opened a grin on him.  
  
"You believed me," she teased, satisfied.  
  
And he looked at her for a second more before dropping his shoulders in sudden relieved annoyance. "That wasn't funny."  
  
But Cid was laughing. "Yeah, it was goddamn hilarious. You should've seen your face, Vince. Didn't know whether to bust something or change your name."  
  
Tifa chuckled. "At least someone appreciates my humour." She reached for Vincent's hand again and was pleased that, despite his irritation, he let her twine their fingers together. "No, I really want to name him Jordan, after my father."  
  
And, after a moment of slightly reproving silence, Vincent nodded. She expected that, after Vincent Jr., anything else probably sounded wonderful.  
  
Cid was standing by the incubator, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and glancing at the door. Once she noticed his restlessness, Tifa gave him an out in the conversation. "Is Shera expecting you, Cid?"  
  
"Yeah, I gotta go. Sorry I can't stick around, but you know how it is." And then he addressed Vincent with a mock salute. "See you tomorrow, Vince, bright and early. You know the place." And he walked jauntily out of the room.  
  
When they were alone, Tifa couldn't help a small chuckle as Vincent met her eyes. "You're telling me you don't like Vincent Jr.?" she chided him with mock reproof.  
  
He smirked a little and, plucking a moment at his pants, crouched down in front of her. "Just what we need, more confusion."  
  
"Not necessarily. You could be Vincent, he could be Vinnie."  
  
"Ah, no."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, if you're sure..."  
  
And he rolled his eyes as he stood again. Squeezed her hand. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Tired. And sore. I think it's time for my next dose of those wonderful, numbing pills."  
  
"All right." He stepped up behind the wheelchair and pushed her out of the room. On the way, however, he stopped them in the hallway and turned the chair toward a bathroom. As he began to steer for it, Tifa smiled indulgently at his overly protective nature.  
  
"Vincent, I can wait out here for you."  
  
"That's not what I'm going in to do." He turned on the light and, once they'd entered, closed the door behind them. And then he brought out something from his pocket.  
  
His cigarettes, Tifa recognized immediately. "Vincent..." she began, curious, wondering if he knew he couldn't smoke here.  
  
But he held up a finger to belay all questions and started to pull the cigarettes out of their package. Placed them on the sink counter. And then he proceeded to pick them up in groups and break them in half, dropping them afterward into the toilet.  
  
Tifa watched, grinning by the end. Then she clapped as he flushed them away. And, as he stood, she opened her arms and drew him into a long, deserved kiss.  
  
And, if she seemed gently rumpled by the time Vincent brought her back to the room, the nurse who'd been looking for her said nothing about it. 


	17. Round Trip

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Round Trip  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Well, this isn't the last chapter. One more, I'm pretty sure. I just keep finding myself writing scenes that weren't originally in the plan. Whoops! Oh well. I blame my coffee addiction. Plus...hee hee...my boyfriend proposed on Monday. Ah, let it spill out, Mary!)  
  
'One isn't necessarily born with courage, but one is born with potential. Without courage, we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can't be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest.' -- Maya Angelou

* * *

"Vincent."  
  
"Mm."  
  
He'd arrived earlier, looking serious and moody, radiating an almost unprecedented aura of impatience as he'd stopped at the end of the bed and briskly gone about unrolling a pair of socks. And then, when he'd made certain that her feet would be comfortable for the trip outside, he'd unfolded the wheelchair from the corner and helped her wordlessly out of bed before guiding her into it.  
  
Now she sat in a housecoat, sleepy but accepting the necessity of an early departure, wondering as she watched him tuck the hem of her robe meticulously around her legs what might've gotten to him since they'd last talked the previous evening. Cloud? An argument with Cid? Some delay?  
  
And, though she was almost sure it wouldn't do any good, she asked anyway. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

Not looking at her as he stood and reached into his pocket for a brush. Thoughtfully remembering, she realized, that she wouldn't want to look like a rat's nest in public.

And, as he glanced around the room, just in case there might be something of hers on the bed or night table, Tifa saw the quick twitch of his fingers. Knew suddenly that he was missing his cigarettes, and not sure for a moment if she should feel more sympathy for him or for herself. It was going to be a rough couple of weeks.  
  
She raised the brush in her hand to start a down stroke below the bandages and hissed as her side twinged, mercilessly reminding her of the broken rib she'd almost forgotten she had.  
  
Vincent was immediately attentive. "Are you all right?"  
  
She grimaced a little, more at the thought of the slow recuperation that wasn't going to allow her to brush her hair -- or wash it, or tie it back -- than from the pain. Reaching to a top shelf, lifting anything moderately heavy -- like a baby who was soon going to want to be nursed. She was going to need help with a lot of things, she thought in brief annoyance. Yes indeed, it was going to be a rough couple of weeks.  
  
"My rib," she explained, tempted to start complaining but biting back the words at the last second. Vincent wasn't going to hear it with much compassion right now, she had a feeling. So she simply held the brush out to him, smiling an apologetic entreaty and hoping he was willing to stand for some of her 'silliness'.  
  
He almost seemed surprised for a moment, and maybe it wasn't so strange considering how forcefully she'd persuaded him during the last few months that she could still do everything she'd been able to do before. Then, seeming to realize she was in earnest, he gave an uncharacteristically restless sigh.  
  
And she lowered her arm, resigning herself. Of course it didn't really matter if her hair was brushed, not as much as, say, leaving North Corel before things had the chance to become worse. In fact, it probably wouldn't matter if she went out in a pink wig and garter belts -- in a small town like this there might not be anyone out at seven o'clock anyway.  
  
"Nevermind," she told him, running her palm over the bristles. "Here, put it back in your pocket."  
  
For a moment he made no move to take the brush from her, his face schooled back into a near-inexpressiveness that Tifa read as meaning he was more than ready to step beyond this and get onto other matters, detouring all until they had the time, and he the patience, to discuss things. However, when he did reach for the brush, instead of putting it back into his pocket he moved around behind her with obvious intention.  
  
And, halfway between exasperated and self-consciously grateful, Tifa turned in the chair and willed him to meet his eyes.  
  
"Vincent, don't worry about it. It doesn't matter. Let's just go."  
  
But Vincent simply put his fingers to her chin, gently urging her to face forward. A moment later, he'd picked up a length of her hair and begun to carefully work the tangles out.  
  
And Tifa, realizing he'd made up his mind and to attempt to change it again was to invite a pointless argument, simply let him. He was trying, she knew. Without his cigarettes, weathering the cravings, and not in any kind of good mood -- but they'd come through worse things than bad days together, and it wasn't so hard to show that little bit of consideration that sometimes made all the difference.  
  
And a part of her felt some weary appreciation for his sacrifice, willing to pull back a little in order to avoid contention that was especially unnecessary after the last few days. Allowed herself to relax, trusting Vincent to be careful around her head injury almost more than she would've trusted herself. And, after a few moments of silence, opened up the first tentative vein of communication.  
  
"Is Cid waiting for us outside town?"  
  
"One of his crew is," Vincent replied quietly, his voice expertly lacking any detectable hint of lingering impatience. "Cid is waiting at the entrance."  
  
"Of the hospital?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
And she smiled a little, hoping to diffuse the atmosphere. "Was he smoking?"  
  
The brush stopped in mid stroke. And Tifa waited for the inevitable rejoinder, belatedly wondering whether it might've been too soon. Startled into a laugh as he brought his hand around, palm striving to cover her mouth as if to cut off anything else she had to say on that particular subject.  
  
"Vincent!" She pushed his arm away. "Jerk."  
  
He gave a brief, breathless chuckle and continued brushing her hair. "He was smoking. I think, for sanity's sake, I may have to take up with another habit."  
  
The first sign of a compulsive personality, she knew, moving from one addiction to another. But she wasn't about to try and change that. "Maybe you could chew gum," she suggested helpfully. "Or do something with your hands, like knitting."  
  
He made no reply.  
  
"Or basket-weaving."  
  
"Tifa.."  
  
"Cross-stitching, maybe. You already know how to sew."  
  
"I think," he began, his tone thick with an amused severity, "we'll have enough to occupy us."  
  
That was certainly true, she thought. "I'm probably going to need some help for a little while, cooking and washing my hair, things like that. And taking care of Jordan."  
  
"I know."  
  
She wasn't sure if she had expected him to say that. Could tell he was running out of hair to untangle, finally getting down to the ends. Gently brushing it through, maybe for the simple pleasure of letting her hair fall in portioned waves from his fingers. He rarely spent time in this kind of affection and she wondered if he was wondering why.  
  
"I think, between the two of us, we can probably manage one good pair of hands."  
  
Yes, she thought, smiling. They certainly could. Each willing and able to contribute one good hand, and it would be enough. No matter how they might be handicapped.  
  
Zangan had been a scrawny, awkward child; Cloud a failed experiment; Barret too hot-headed to be a really effective leader. None of them up to the tasks they had taken up, really. But it had never mattered, because they had all been ready, willing to put one good hand in. It would always be good enough.  
  
Finished with her hair, Vincent scooped it up and lay it over one of her shoulders before moving to step around her. As he passed, Tifa lifted a hand, her right side where the rib had shattered, and took hold of two of his metal fingers. Smiled into his face when he turned to look at her, so in love with him sometimes she wasn't sure how she managed to stand it some days.  
  
"Thank you, Vincent."  
  
Something warmed in her at the familiar twitch of his lips. The fights were over, set to rest. He would always be there.  
  
And then he simply inclined his head and opened the door.

* * *

By the time they reached the hospital entrance, Tifa had resigned herself to the fact that they couldn't take the wheelchair with them, and Vincent was going to be carrying her the rest of the way. In the lobby, between two sets of sliding doors, she acquiesced to slip her hands around his neck as he leaned down to gingerly slide his arms under her knees and shoulders. And though Cid grinned hugely at the picture they made as they started toward the edge of town, he didn't say anything about it. Perhaps due to the look Vincent gave him, more threat than greeting.  
  
"So, are we ever gonna see you again?" Cid eventually asked as they walked along the deserted sidewalk.  
  
The morning air hung about them, still with that static silence of early dawn as if everything about the day was simply waiting for them to leave before getting underway. And Tifa couldn't help but feel now as if everything had been inevitable, all happening the way it had needed to happen so that, for a moment, the last remaining grains of unease stated to settle. Willing, now, to be carried on to the next stage: motherhood, all of the bumpy, terrifying, groundbreaking ahead.  
  
"I'm sure I could find a reason to wander through Nibelheim, ev'ry once in a while. If you've got an extra chair and maybe a deck of cards lying around." He deftly pulled a cigarette from the pack in his goggles and scrounged for a lighter, the epitome of nonchalance.  
  
Tifa knew they still had that chair, and that deck of cards. And flowers, every year on the same day, for her tombstone. But she also knew it was almost something sacred, though if anyone could fit into the space that had been left, it was probably Cid.  
  
And Tifa waited, listening to the way Vincent's breath changed as he considered his answer. Kept her eyes on the collar of his shirt because she didn't want to affect the choice too much. There were inevitably cracks, but she couldn't say for sure than any of them were big enough yet to allow someone new to slip completely through. It would take time, she'd known from the beginning, and she'd never said anything about it.  
  
But she could almost swear that, though his voice was soft when he finally spoke, Vincent had known his mind about this long before Cid had ever posed the question. "If you think you can spare the gil."  
  
Cid simply took a drag from his cigarette, like they might've been friends a long time. Like he didn't know what a step forward this was for Vincent. "Shows what you know. I've been letting you win."  
  
And she smiled as Vincent scoffed quietly. Game, and match. Lily had always known how to knock him open.  
  
The Highwind was visible even before they left the streets behind, making their way along a lesser used road as they headed into the outskirts, the only remnants left of North Corel's hungry, grasping past. But, before they'd past the last of the rundown, most likely abandoned houses, Vincent was slowing his pace. And Tifa glanced up, surprised, as he turned to look over his shoulder.  
  
Cid stopped and turned, too, the smoke from his cigarette lingering around him, coils of grey breath creeping into the cracks between lazy air currents. "Aw, shit."  
  
"What is it?" Tifa craned her neck a little, trying to get a glimpse at the road behind them. "What's wrong?"  
  
"North Corel's goddamn welcoming committee," Cid muttered quietly. "Should've known, you can't sneeze left without finding her in your fucking armpit."  
  
But, still, they waited. And the clouded expression on Yuffie's face as she approached, the rigid set of shoulders usually so quick and assured, told Tifa this wasn't going to be a simple chide for leaving without telling anyone.  
  
Wide eyes darted between Cid and Vincent first, as if gauging a threat, before they settled on Tifa. "Tifa, I'm sorry I lied that time. I know I already said that, but now I really mean it." She stopped a moment as if to find the words, and glanced again at Cid and Vincent as if their gazes were getting heavier. "It just seemed so innocent, I guess I thought it really was. I didn't think there would be any problem with just getting you to talk to him." And then, almost seeming to shrink a little into herself, she glanced again at the two men before dropping her gaze and muttering glumly, "I know it wasn't any of my business. Do you guys have to stare at me like that?"  
  
"You're fucking talking to us, where the hell do you want us to look?"  
  
But Tifa had a feeling Yuffie hadn't come out here, followed them out here, simply to apologize. Once she might have, to assuage her own conscience and to know she was back on everyone's good side. Wait for a smile from Tifa, and then just grin her child-grin and assume everything was back to normal. But some things had changed. And, after spending enough time with Barret, who'd never seen individuals as clearly as he'd seen groups, one of those things might've been her perspective. Finally able to put herself into someone else's shoes, and feel something like sympathy.  
  
Really had started to grow up, though there were a lot of things she had to learn. And Barret wouldn't always be the best teacher for all of them, Tifa knew, though Yuffie would have to figure that out for herself.  
  
And so she interrupted, stepping back into the old role of mediator as easily as if no time had passed at all. "Just tell us why you came out here, Yuffie."  
  
"Well, I went to the hospital, but they told me you'd already checked out I actually saw you by accident on my way back." And then she stopped and stared at Tifa for a moment before dropping her eyes. Atpically indecisive about something, and Tifa couldn't help wondering if this was the first time everything hadn't seemed clear to her.  
  
"I don't blame you for trying to leave. Gawd, we must've seemed so pushy." She gave a quiet laugh and scuffed her sneaker into the dirt. "No wonder Vince seemed so mad." She glanced up at Vincent, but Tifa knew already that the younger woman wasn't going to get any compassion out of that expression. So she simply took the conversation back into her own hands.  
  
"Yuffie, it's all right. We don't blame you. Just tell us what's wrong."  
  
And though Yuffie nodded, Tifa could see that she could still feel the unresolved bits and was still chewing on them. Though they would have to wait for another time. "I came out here because Cloud's starting to act funny, and Barret won't talk to him. I didn't know who else he might listen to."  
  
And Tifa felt something in her start to sink into her stomach. Of course it wasn't over. How could she have believed it was over? Cloud wasn't the type, not without hitting rock bottom first. "What do you mean he's acting funny?"  
  
"I don't know, just funny. He…he put his materia in my hand and said he hoped I didn't have a shitty life."  
  
Desperate, Tifa knew, and who knew what he might do to himself? She thought she did. They'd been alike enough in that respect that she couldn't fool herself into believing anything else.  
  
And though Cid mumbled, "Not our problem," around his cigarette, Tifa thought he sounded unconvinced. They had still been a team, once upon a time, though a lot of pain and a lot of shit. Still connected by that, even if the threads were fraying with wear and time.  
  
And Vincent looked at her, mouth a tight line. Already expecting what was going to happen, and letting her choose it.  
  
And she pursed her lips. "I don't know if there's anything we can do, Yuffie."  
  
"Except smack him upside the head," Cid muttered.  
  
And maybe that was all they would be able to do. Hard enough to break him out of his self-pity and into a final understanding of how things had to be. Or at least into the first few stumbling steps toward it. Tifa glanced at Vincent and took a breath, not sure how to say what was probably the absolute last thing he wanted to hear.  
  
But he wasn't going to make her say it. With a heavy breath that made her want to take it all back, back to the hope and agreement of a few minutes ago, he started back toward town.  
  
Yuffie didn't say anything else as they headed along the road, prudently recognizing, Tifa thought, the suffocating necessity of silence. But Cid wasn't shy of stepping a little closer to say in a gruff murmur at Vincent's shoulder, "You realize that you're going back to do the thing you were hoping to avoid by leaving."  
  
But Vincent didn't reply. Sometimes, when things were complicated, not black and not white, when everything seemed like the wrong choice, you had to choose anyway. Whether you would let someone drown, or if you would jump in to try and save them.  
  
And Tifa didn't need anyone to tell her that it had nothing to do with playing the hero. 


	18. Last Battle

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: Last Battle  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Thanks, everyone, for reading and for reviews! This fic has been a lot of fun. One more chapter, maybe, before the final epilogue. Thanks again, so much, to all of you. None of my fics would've come into being without the encouragement and support of readers. You're all incredible and deserve cookies and kisses and blank cheques!)  
  
"All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident." - Aruthur Schopenhauer (1788 - 1860)

* * *

Barret's house was a funny mishmash of belongings, as much was obvious as soon as Yuffie led them blithely through the front door. A remarkable variety of personal effects were lined up against the walls, piled on ill-assorted furniture, or shoved into corners -- either the unfortunate property of someone with a severe identity disorder, or the properties of four distinct someones all living under the same roof. Several unpaired shoes were half-stepped out of the closet; various appliances and dirtied plates, pots and pans sat confidently on any table and counter space in the kitchen that was not taken up with cat dishes or hair scrunchies or oblong boxes spitting tinfoil or plastic wrap; curly-haired dolls in pink dresses were having tea on the floor around empty containers of machine-gun ammo, duct-taped together.  
  
Cid cursed quietly in something like awe as he flicked his cigarette out the door without turning from the scene, and Vincent felt tempted to echo the sentiment. No wonder Cloud was having problems moving on with his life, if his own lonely future and the unsalvageable-looking confusion of Barret's present were the only examples he had to go by.  
  
Lily's house, Vincent had to admit after a moment, had sometimes been a mixed-up mess of cooking and laundry and a half-dozen other ongoing projects. But at least he'd always known, even stepping in the door into the middle of it all, where he'd fit into her strangely efficient upheaval. She'd always made room for him, the most important of her undertakings.  
  
"Good old Barret," Tifa said, barely under her breath, just loud enough for Vincent to hear while still holding her in his arms. And Vincent had a feeling this was what Tifa had known, perhaps cleaned up after, in the months when Avalanche had been little more than five people planning out of the basement of a bar.  
  
"Nice to know we weren't the only ones to get our acts together," he said in soft reply.  
  
Tifa glanced at him with a chiding, amused smirk at his sarcasm. But he couldn't feel shame for pointing out the obvious. Because, really, who would've believed years ago that, out of all of them, Vincent would be one of the few who would manage to create a new life out of ghosts and nightmares? Not even he himself, when for the others it had seemed so easy in comparison.  
  
Though, of course, he'd been forced to start over when the rest of them would have tried to go back to aborted lives. So maybe, in some ways, it had been easier for him, he realized. Since he'd had no preconceived notions about his future to try and live up to, he'd inevitably set himself up to be satisfied with anything even slightly better than living in a coffin.  
  
"Is Barret here?" Tifa asked suddenly, bringing Vincent out of his thoughts.  
  
"No, he took Marlene to the park." Yuffie stood with her hands in her pockets, clearly accustomed to the turmoil around her, probably even an instigator. "He and Cloud have been avoiding each other since Barret accused him of lying."  
  
Which was understandable, Vincent acknowledged, if not the best course of action, considering what had followed. Inevitable that Tifa would feel the necessity of going back, once she knew. And inevitable that Vincent would take her back, though he had to admit it was partly because he wasn't leaving her alone with Cloud that he could justify it.  
  
And because he knew that, if it became obvious that Cloud was closing his ears to anything that wasn't what he wanted to hear, Tifa would be able to forgive him if he turned on his heel and walked out of the house. When she might not ever have forgiven him if he'd forced her onto the Highwind.  
  
"Vincent, can you put me down somewhere?"  
  
There was a couch in the living room, half covered in clothing, paper, half-empty cereal boxes. And, despite the part of him that said he should keep tight hold of her, he moved to set her down on a portion of the sofa that was mostly free of clutter. And tried to ignore the sudden, flaring desire for a cigarette as he straightened up.  
  
Oh, there were many places he would rather be. Home, being the foremost. Even if it meant changing the diaper of that tiny baby with the mismatched eyes.  
  
He hadn't spent the night in Tifa's room -- it had been against policy and he'd understood the precaution. So he'd spent most of the quiet hours of obscurity sitting on a bench in the park, mostly thinking about what it was going to be like. A baby, a little stranger entirely dependent on his care, and wouldn't Lily have laughed when he'd showed up at her door in the middle of the night, completely out of his league.  
  
But somehow the fact that it had one blue, one green eye made him feel as if he had some preordained place in its life. He couldn't kid himself that he was going to be a perfect father, but at least there was something they would have in common. Eyes that would make people stop and stare for a second, not sure they had seen what they had really seen.  
  
Red, or blue and green. At least they could be different together.  
  
Yuffie was still being unusually close-mouthed, staring at a spot on the floor and seeming to have every intention of leaving this to someone else now that she'd done her part. Vincent was actually starting to wonder if perhaps Cloud had left North Corel while Yuffie had been gone, and thinking they should find out before they wasted any more time sitting around, when Cid suddenly tossed a key chain he'd been turning in his fingers back onto a table and said, "Well, is he even here?"  
  
Yuffie glanced up quickly and took a breath before shrugging. "I don't know."  
  
"Okay. You could find out."  
  
And then she scoffed, her eyes bright and her face contorting into a scowl that was three parts tantrum and very familiar. "Look, I've already tried talking to him, he doesn't listen to me. None of you ever listened to me. Gawd, I just came here to get away from Godo, not to play 'gopher' for everyone. I just wanted to help, but if I'd known it was going to turn out like this I wouldn't even have come. I think I've done a lot just doing what I've already done. None of this is my responsibility, you know."  
  
"And you think we fuckin' want to be here? We've got other places to be, too, you know."  
  
Just when it looked like Yuffie might respond, turning the argument into one of those glorious battles of old, a door opened somewhere in the house and someone jogged down the stairs.  
  
And then Cloud was stepping into the living room, glancing up in time to see everyone turned toward him, his expression weary confusion for a moment. And then his face hardened with cold realization, and he began to walk without a word toward the front door.  
  
"Cloud?"  
  
"Go home, Tifa."  
  
"Cloud, wait!"  
  
He didn't. And Vincent only noticed a moment after that Tifa was standing unsteadily beside him with a hand on the arm of the sofa. And then she took a tiny step, obviously wanting to follow. Quickly, he put a hand under her shoulder blades for stability, but she brushed him off after a moment.  
  
"It can't be you, Vincent," she told him quietly. "You're part of the reason he's running."  
  
And of course he knew that, but she wasn't going to try and walk alone as long as he was in the room.  
  
"Here, Tifa." Yuffie had slipped up, mostly unnoticed, and was wrapping an arm under Tifa's shoulders. "I'll help you."  
  
There was a moment where, under the force of Tifa's grateful smile, a glimmer of Yuffie's child-grin returned. And Vincent thought he understood the two ideas: not wanting to be involved because you had a feeling you would never be completely welcome -- but wanting so badly to be involved because you didn't seem to fit anywhere else. The plight of humanity, of being different in a world where everyone was different but some people were better able to hide it.  
  
Vincent followed them out of the house with Cid at his back, but he kept at a discreet distance as Yuffie and Tifa made their way down the walkway, after Cloud's back. No one could say they hadn't tried their hardest.  
  
And then Cloud seemed to be slowing. And Vincent grit his teeth at the familiar, tempting presence of Cid's lit cigarette at his shoulder.

* * *

Tifa's mind was flitting back and forth between two heavy thoughts as Yuffie helped her the last few yards -- considering both the past and the present, the feelings she understood all too well, and the fact that she wasn't really sure what she could say to change them. Glancing into Cloud's tired, angry, resigned expression and idly wondering if he'd looked this way, staring down at her as she'd slept in those moments before he'd left her alone in Kalm to face the morning without him. Just tired and angry and knowing it wasn't going to work, and maybe it was better just to leave. Just to leave. But not like this, with your heart a rock in your chest, its iron weight pulling you down to the bottom until breathing was no longer something you would ever have to worry about again.  
  
"What is it, Tifa?" His tone was clipped and softly distant, and he wasn't meeting her eyes. Feeling every second, she expected, stealing strength from him, every moment just adding to the hurt. And she had to suppress the urge to apologize and simply let him go. Because if Vincent had done that, her life would've been little more than the last few circling grains in an hourglass.  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
He only shook his head, feeling massively misunderstood, she knew. "Why does it matter? Go home and live your life and forget I ever existed. Whoever I am." His eyes darted to Yuffie's face and then away just as quickly, acknowledging her presence and dismissing it in almost the same moment as either unavoidable or unimportant.  
  
And it tore at Tifa, the desire to somehow take all of the hurt and confusion away, and she had to viciously remind herself that what he wanted was something she wouldn't ever be able to give him. Because he wasn't even sure what it was he wanted.  
  
The only way to address this was head-on, without mincing words. "If you kill yourself, you'll never be able to find out who you are."  
  
She knew she'd hit the sensitive hub when he met her eyes, his face suddenly taut with a cold, straining rage at her presumption. But his voice was quiet and controlled, and almost worse for it. "Fuck off, Tifa. You don't understand."  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"No. You don't."  
  
"Yes. I do," she insisted firmly. And she watched in a mixture of hope and dread as the ice in his eyes turned into the horror of recognition. Yes, she did know. She'd been there, on the edge of the bridge, helplessly despairing of looking for answers that were constantly, frustratingly out of reach.  
  
And his next move, she thought, was mostly out of a kind of self-preservation. Caught for a moment between needing her and fearing her, and he shot out a hand as if to push her away, to escape from the terrible knowledge she held over him . Caught her in the shoulder and managed to spin her out of Yuffie's arm. And she landed vulnerably hard on her stomach on the pavement, choking on the sudden suffocating pain that cut through her abdomen like hot knives.  
  
The next part happened so quickly, she was hardly conscious of it until Yuffie was there, distractedly trying to pull her off the ground. And she was simply trying to roll over and not vomit at the clenching nausea of fire her stomach. Eyes finally focusing outward to see Vincent and Cloud locked in a terrible contest at the arms, Cloud's face tight with fearful effort as if he knew the second he lost his defensive hold was the second his life was forfeit.  
  
There were some people gathering, she noticed distantly in the rigid, voiceless instant before Cid was suddenly there at Vincent's back, swearing as he worked to get a good grip around Vincent's shoulders.  
  
"Shit, Vince, stop! Let 'im go!"  
  
But in the end it wasn't Cid who finally broke the shuddering stalemate. It was Vincent, abruptly pushing off and knocking both Cid and Cloud to the ground. And Tifa knew why as she watched Vincent start to run. As he stumbled once, curling in on himself, wings and black hair and half-transformed by the time he was in the air, out into the wild around North Corel.  
  
And then there was silence. And Cloud was breathing and looking at her, looking at her, and she realized that she was bleeding through the white hospital robe. The stitches had ripped open, she knew. And for a moment, without Vincent there, she wondered what she was going to do.  
  
But there were friends here. Yuffie was trying to pull her to her feet, and Cid was coming to put a hand under her shoulder. And then she was in Cid's arms.  
  
Cloud was there for a moment, following as Cid started back toward the hospital, trying to meet her eyes as she clenched her teeth on the burning agony. Somehow uncomfortably reminiscent of the whip-quick swipe of Sephiroth's blade when Cloud hadn't been able to do anything.  
  
"Tifa, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't believe I did that…"  
  
And then she couldn't see him or hear him anymore. But she had a feeling he had at least been reminded that there were things in life that were more important than one's own selfish suffering. And she hoped, in a pain-distant part of her mind, that it had been enough to make him try. Try again.  
  
Because her part in this was over. 


	19. The Bank to Say Goodbye

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: The Bank to Say Goodbye  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(I'm sorry this chapter took so long to write. My muse for this poor little fic has been waning, right at the end. But I've only got the epilogue to finish and then I'm done! Thanks for reading and for reviews, everyone! I know this fic doesn't really stand up to some of the other stuff I've done, but it was something to do.)  
  
"My land is bare of chattering folk; the clouds are low along the ridges, and sweet's the air with curly smoke from all my burning bridges." -- Dorothy Parker

* * *

Cloud was gone. Gone, with his things, on his chocobo, without another word to anyone. It was the first piece of news Tifa heard, shortly after waking, in a brief visit from Barret and Yuffie. The second was from a nurse who told her that little Jordon had made it safely to Kalm and in a day he would be waiting to be taken home.  
  
The third piece of news was Vincent himself, returning from his unexpected hunt. Recently out of the shower and coming to see how she was, and probably more than ready to leave North Corel as soon as she was discharged from the hospital.  
  
But as he entered, turning to close the door behind him, Tifa saw the slump of his shoulders and glimpsed his weary, distancing expression. And she resigned herself back into her pillow, more than anything wanting this to be all behind them, wanting a return to the comfortable, loving routine of day to day life. Vincent, she thought despondently, was never going to forget this. Independent and smart, she'd led him to believe after all this time, but not really when it came to the deepest parts of her heart where unclosed doors and unlocked windows still let foolish hopes in. Should've known closure wasn't something you could force, with too little time and conversation, into a cracked vessel.  
  
Should've believed Vincent from the start. But she was stubborn, too, and sometimes she thought he would do anything to make her happy. Guilty and responsible, no matter what Vincent said, for Cloud's happiness, if only because Cloud believed it to be so -- and she wondered, feeling as if her stomach had turned into a clenched fist, whether Vincent might finally be getting tired of being vulnerable to her whims.  
  
He didn't meet her eyes as he came to the bed, seemingly content with merely studying her form beneath the blanket as if that could tell him how the restitching had gone. And she sighed quietly to herself, holding back the impulse to get unreasonably angry. Her fault, not his, she knew, and this was going to have to be allowed to play out between them.  
  
She stared at him until he finally met her eyes, his expression unchanged. And she smiled tightly, hoping she could break through the guarded fortress his mind had become.  
  
"Well, you told me so, didn't you?"  
  
He glanced away, across the room, leaving her first offer at apology behind him. "It doesn't matter."  
  
Bullshit, it didn't matter. Far beneath the surface, brooding behind his walls, and Tifa resigned herself to a long, tugging fight, without any clear direction for fishing his words out. With another sigh, she simply began a ritual of small talk, waiting for him to make the next move.  
  
"They transferred Jordan to the hospital in Kalm this morning. We can take him home tomorrow."  
  
"Mm."  
  
"And they're going to let me out of here after lunch. If Cid's still willing to help us, we can be back home in time for supper."  
  
He made no reply. She looked at her hands. And shook her head. It was no good. She didn't have the leisure of patience this morning.  
  
"So, tell me, are you very angry?"  
  
His gaze felt like storm, ready for heavy rain. And they could've been having breakfast in Kalm right now, sipping tea and hospital orange juice and basking in their tightly woven universe. Everything else simply a nightmare they had left behind them.  
  
A nightmare deliberately forgotten, she knew, until the hours when Vincent slept and she lay awake in a turmoil of thoughts that had no proper ending.  
  
"Not anymore. It's over."  
  
She glanced up to meet weary, unresponsive eyes, terrified for a moment that he meant what it sounded like he meant. "It's over?" She could never be as unaffected as him, and she cursed the hushed breath her voice had become.  
  
He turned his gaze away and she saw the lines around his mouth tighten, the corners of his mouth twitching into a tiny frown.  
  
"I won't make excuses, you knew my feelings."  
  
She was ready to say something, anything. A real apology, a promise to be different, a plea…  
  
But he continued.  
  
"I let my anger take the opportunity; it was a dangerous loss of control. I could have seriously injured him."  
  
Tifa had already spent a desperate moment trying to follow the conversation, not sure what he was saying, when she realized that when she'd asked him if he was angry, he'd immediately inferred 'at Cloud'.  
  
Involved in two completely separate fights, and she'd hardly thought about his struggle with Cloud since it had happened. Surprised, for a moment, that he'd resorted to violence, but in the end she'd resolved it in her mind as an entirely predictable reaction, trying to push Cloud back over the line he'd crossed. "Vincent…"  
  
"I may not have stopped at injuring him."  
  
But he was lost in self-damnation, and she was suddenly wondering how long it had been since he'd transformed, not to hunt, but out of rage. A long, long time, she guessed, before Lily and routines and a job where monsters were little more than tools to kill other monsters.  
  
And she had a feeling he was suddenly re-evaluating himself against standards he would never be able to meet. No, he would never be like other men again. He would never be free of hunting. And, because of that, she would never be entirely free from danger, and neither would Jordan. There was a paradox in him, she saw now, never really acknowledged before: the human and the altered other. The one who could live this life, and the one he kept a secret because he wanted to be with her.  
  
The Vincent who loved her, and the Vincent who, though he denied it at every corner, believed somewhere inside that he was deceiving himself.  
  
And she knew the distance in his eyes was not because of her. He could forgive her anything. It was because he was starting to believe he was going to have to go, and, perhaps for sanity's sake, had detached himself from emotion.  
  
"Vincent…" She held out her hand to him, needing to bridge the gap before he drifted further. "Sit down."  
  
The first spark in his eyes, the first real twitch of something breaking for a moment through the wall, and she almost thought he would listen to her. But then it faded, and she nearly expected him to take a step backwards.  
  
"Who am I," he began quietly, "to talk about protecting you from Cloud. He stopped to watch me hunt yesterday, possibly thinking about your safety. I've been a fool to convince myself that the routines are enough."  
  
And she knew this had gotten well out of proportion, to not trust himself suddenly after almost two years. It was one extreme or the other: to forget and deny everything for some peace and happiness, or to accept it all and damn himself. He had probably been battling with this a long time. It was time to face it down, as far as it would go, if not completely out of his life.  
  
"Vincent, they've been enough so far. And it's not like I don't know that you change into Chaos and the others to hunt monsters. I made a choice with you, I thought you made the same choice."  
  
This seemed to touch something in him and she saw the movement at his throat as he swallowed. "I made a selfish choice," he admitted quickly.  
  
"No, you didn't," she asserted firmly, wondering how in the world she was going to follow him if he decided to turn and leave the room. "It was a choice to love me and make me happy. That wasn't selfish. What you really wanted was for things to stay the way they were, but you changed that for me."  
  
He made no move to leave, or to reply. And, deciding to take it as encouragement, she continued. This wasn't a bluff, she knew. He would go, and maybe forever, unless she could pull a higher hand. And she knew she could -- if he would let himself listen.  
  
"So, what do you want to do? Leave me to protect me, like you almost left Lily?"  
  
She felt herself starting to bubble up with tears, angry and afraid and wishing her words were solid objects she could use to knock him back into himself. So long, and so stable, she'd never imagined it would come back down to this -- back to the Vincent he'd been when he'd been so cautious about letting her in.  
  
"Leave me like Cloud left me, to find yourself? Leave me to raise Jordan alone?"  
  
There was something startled and wary in his eyes for a moment. Oh yes, the idea of leaving her alone with all of the responsibility, forgetting his own responsibility for the choice he had made. This was reality, this was the decision in front of him. Very little in the world was concretely black or white, when everything good had an inevitable bit of bad in it. And whatever he chose now would have to be the good with the bad he could accept and live with, and not regret.  
  
And she continued, resolved not to let him leave with any kind of delusion that he was doing the right thing.  
  
"You didn't hurt Cloud. You could've let Chaos rip him into tiny pieces, but you didn't. That was a choice, wasn't it? To protect him?"  
  
His expression was faltering, and she couldn't help the stab of victorious satisfaction she felt at being able to get through to him. "I haven't been that angry in a long time," he confessed softly. "If I'd had the power then, Hojo would've died in that basement…"  
  
"But you stopped yourself. And what's to say you'll ever be angry like that again? We've fought, we've been angry at each other, and you don't transform. I don't understand how this risk is worth throwing everything away?"  
  
He closed his eyes and turned his head a little, and she wiped at forming tears. He knew, now, what the naked options were and she waited with her heart beating in her throat for him to choose. Thought she knew what he would choose, what he wanted to choose, what he had to choose…  
  
"I'm sorry, Tifa."  
  
And she sat up, ignoring the fiery stitches, ignoring the ache in her head, ignoring everything about the present in return for the future. "Vincent, please…"  
  
But he didn't leave. His expression was finally open, apologetic and remorseful as he stepped nearer and sat in the chair by the bed. Took her hand with an uncharacteristic significance and met her eyes resolutely. "I wouldn't leave you." And then, quieter. "I wouldn't leave you like that."  
  
And she took a sudden breath, not sure when she'd stopped breathing. Lay back on the pillow and didn't say anything right away. Just held his hand and let him rememorize the feel of her fingers. And, after what might've been a minute, she smiled a little at him, still not entirely sure where she stood between anger and relief. "We both get caught between these decisions, don't we? Nothing's completely right or completely wrong, so we're never sure exactly which way to go."  
  
And Vincent's lips twitched a little, a shadow of his usual smirk. "To scorch ourselves and others by burning bridges is worse by far than letting the fire burn our own hand."  
  
Tifa raised an eyebrow at something so apt. "Is that a quote?"  
  
"From somewhere. I don't remember."  
  
She smiled and squeezed his hand. He was forgiven, and she wondered if he might finally let her into the parts of himself he kept closed off. Not that it would really change the way she felt about him, one way or the other. "I love you," she told him. "I love everything about you."  
  
He smiled gently, maybe gratefully. And, when a silent moment passed, she allowed herself an expectant expression. And his smile widened, amused.  
  
"Yes, I love you, too."  
  
And she knew he did, knew whatever had passed between them, between herself and Cloud, between the past and the future, had been transformed into a signpost, a milestone, a moment when one more silence had become a point of understanding. He loved her, they had a son, their personal histories weren't something that could be helped, but they could be accepted and put behind them and built on.  
  
And now it was time, past time she knew, to push off from the banks and simply wave farewell. It was all there was left to do here. 


	20. At Long Last, Buried

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or any of the other Final Fantasy VII characters. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Destination: At Long Last, Buried  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
(Okay, I think it's been a month or something since I wrote the last chapter for this fic, and this is sort of the epilogue, and I meant to have it up so much sooner. But my muse died of withering starvation, and I've only just barely manage to resurrect it long enough to punch this out. Audience, my hugest apologies for a story that sometimes only had half my attention. This is definitely my final good-bye. Thanks for all the reviews and for reading and for so much more! The learning, oh the learning! That's enough.)  
  
"While here I stand, not only with the sense / Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts / That in this moment there is life and food / For future years. And so I dare to hope, / Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first / I came among these hills;" -- 'Lines', William Wordsworth

* * *

Tifa stepped into the familiar warm and white-washed fluorescence of the lobby and began with a haste born of routine to thumb through her key ring. In a moment she'd found what she was looking for and turned to open the tiny mail locker at her elbow. Bill, bill, she ticked off in her head, pulling them into the open. Something for Vincent, something for the previous tenant, a restaurant flyer. And a postcard.  
  
A very regular-looking postcard at first glance, the picture strangely and faintly familiar: one of dark grassland trickling off into the flat, severe rock of a cliff, perhaps a ravine, under the heavy glare of an unclouded red sun. Beautiful and stark, mingled with the faint suspicion that she should know the place. But there was no caption, no message on the back, no clue as to its purpose or its sender. Nothing but her own type-written address on the reverse side. And she almost smiled at the thought that it must be a joke. From Barret, or maybe Yuffie, both of whom had shown up to say good-bye before she and Vincent had left North Corel, months ago now. Both of whom had seemed almost ready to understand Vincent's status in her life, and Barret had even managed to shake his hand.  
  
Maybe a picture of a place they'd been on their travels, all of them together, that would mean something to her once she'd remembered where it was. But impossible to know now, she realized, too tired from eight hours on her feet to try and wrack her brains. With a sigh of mildly frustrated curiousity, she put the postcard with the rest in her hand and headed upstairs.  
  
Vincent was nowhere to be seen as she entered the apartment, and she smiled as she took off her shoes. Before work, she'd drawn up a list of things to be done before they left, mostly things that involved feeding or changing or bathing or dressing Jordan. And she half hoped to catch him in the act. There was little, she thought in private delight, more surprising -- or entertaining -- than finding Vincent and Jordan together.  
  
During the first few weeks she'd watched and wondered and waited, unsure how Vincent might ultimately react to being a father. He'd been helpful enough, in his own initially uncomfortable way, with changing and washing and waking up in the middle of the night to the shrill, unfamiliar cries of a young, hungry stomach. Unsurprisingly silent about their evolving family, simply building new routines because it was something he could control. Not affectionate, or particularly inclined to spend time alone with their son, but always ready to shoulder his share of the new chores so that she'd had nothing to complain about.  
  
But it was something Lily had unearthed through the almost flippantly devoted patience that had sometimes seemed like an accidental coincidence of her character: love took a long time to grow, to shape, for him. He had to be sure, she knew, reasonably sure that he was not stepping blindly into a world of pain. But when he was sure…  
  
Like a coal left under pressure and heat, his love was something strong and sharp and unbreakable beneath the black soot. Something raw and uncut sometimes, but always beautiful. And always waiting, simply, for the right light to reveal it.  
  
And Jordan was, undoubtedly, full of lively radiance. In his good-humoured charm and natural curiosity, in his absolute trust and his absolute dependence, he had artlessly wound Vincent around his tiny, pudgy finger. Fitting into the crook of his arm, sleeping in perfect contentment against his collarbone, as simply and snugly as a holster had ever fit over an old Turk's hips -- he was the last blow to Vincent's unsmiling composure, and perhaps the biggest doorway between his walls.  
  
The greatest love of Vincent's life, despite all initial doubts, and Tifa had never been less jealous.  
  
She dropped the mail onto an end table in the living room and sensed more than heard the sound of movement and voice coming from the bedroom. Grinning, she made her quiet way down the hall.  
  
And wasn't surprised in the least when Vincent didn't notice her.  
  
Jordan lay on the bed, a squirming bundle of bunched up clothes and smooth baby skin as Vincent worked to get him into a pair of overalls and the shoes Jordan hated. One tiny hand ventured up to smack at his father's face, but Vincent was quick enough to avoid the swinging palm and take the small fingers gently in his lips for a moment before letting them go.  
  
"That isn't going to work, unfortunately," he chided seriously. "Your mother wants you in overalls and shoes, and this time you're going to have to keep them on."  
  
Jordan squirmed and gurgled in protest.  
  
"There's nothing I can do about it. But, you know, I think you're going to forget all about it once there's a bottle in your mouth. Yes. I think so. You're all stomach and diaper. Yes. There we go." He hefted Jordan onto his tiny feet and then into his arms. "All ready for your…" He turned to the door and froze for a second as he realized he had an audience.  
  
And Tifa laughed as his expression melted into a familiarly reproachful, and slightly embarrassed, resignation.  
  
"You never seem to notice, it's so funny. I could've been a burglar and you would've just gone on obliviously."  
  
"A burglar might've left my dignity intact, at least." But he was smiling now. Smiling and waiting for her final inspection and approval.  
  
Though she hardly needed to give it. Vincent had these kinds of routines all but memorized and her sanction was more of a polite formality now than a real requisite. "You two look very…" She stopped for a moment to search for an appropriate term. "Solemn."  
  
Jordan shrieked, the epitome of solemnity.  
  
She chuckled and sidled up to put her arms around them both, content for the moment, despite her rush home, to indulge in a little conversation. "Did he give you much trouble?"  
  
Vincent shrugged a little. "No more than usual. He managed to keep most of the water in his bath this time."  
  
She nuzzled her face against the soft hair at the nape of Jordan's neck, smiling. "You just hate to do anything alone, don't you? Everyone has to wear your food, everyone has to take a bath."  
  
Jordan squirmed around to look at her, toothless and unrepentant.  
  
She glanced at Vincent, and took a second to appreciate his quiet smirk. The same smirk he wore when she was lying on the floor with Jordan, playing with Jordan, putting Jordan to bed. Content, oh so content, to watch her enveloped in the happy universe of loving her son. Their son. Never laughing, only rarely participating, but joyfully content to watch.  
  
"You know," she began, letting her voice become recognizably teasing, "if you weren't so embarrassed about being 'foolishly affectionate', I wouldn't have to sneak up and spy on you."  
  
"If you didn't tease me about it, maybe I wouldn't feel the need to be 'foolishly affectionate' in private."  
  
An old argument, and it had only stung the first time, when she'd accused him of being cold. How wrong she'd been.  
  
"Shut up and kiss your son."

* * *

The afternoon was sunny and warm and completely, atmospherically wrong for a cemetery. Tifa took a few moments to de-weed the area around the heavy, bobbing lilies before sitting down with Vincent and Jordan (finally, happily absorbed in crawling or bouncing around) on the traditional blanket.  
  
She leaned back against Vincent and stared at the tombstone, idly rereading the epithet. Name, dates, and one line of an appropriate quote, almost hidden in the flowers: 'You give, I give. We come away rich.' She glanced up at Vincent and returned his spare smile.  
  
"Should we make an introduction?" she asked, absurdly pleased with the way Vincent was sitting. Relaxed, his arm around her, hair unbound for the moment and face open to the sunlight.  
  
"She knows."  
  
And Tifa knew she did. "I got a postcard today," she began quietly, craving more of their sometimes subdued conversation. "It had a picture on it I thought I recognized, but no message and no return address."  
  
"I saw it."  
  
Trust him to notice anything new or out of place. She brushed a few strands of hair away from her face. "Did you recognize it?"  
  
He'd pursed his lips a little, and she suddenly suspected what she hadn't even considered.  
  
"It's a picture of the cliff side, where Cloud asked us to find our reason to return."  
  
The place they'd all come back to, she continued silently, somehow unsurprised. Where they'd all come back to when they'd found their answers, why they'd wanted to continue fighting for a world, in a world that, for some of them, had held mostly pain.  
  
So he was okay. Wherever he was, he'd found a reason, and he was okay. She smiled a little and turned back to the tombstone. Almost ashamed for a moment that she'd been too busy to wonder more than briefly, and infrequently, how he was doing. But reconciled to the gesture of closure, and grateful. Cloud hadn't always been selfish. And she hoped he was happy.  
  
"We've all moved on, then," she murmured, satisfied.  
  
"But we come back to the same places," Vincent added quietly.  
  
And it was true. Barret to North Corel, Yuffie to Wutai, Reeve to the slow rebirth of a Midgar of which no part would be air, wind, or rain deprived. Cloud to the last place he'd made a solid decision he could believe in.  
  
And Vincent and herself to Nibelheim, and to this graveyard twice a year.  
  
Even if the future wasn't about returning to the past, it was about remembering and acknowledging, and sometimes grieving. Growing and learning and being afraid and hurting. Loving and changing and allowing things to stay the same.  
  
And Tifa curled up in Vincent's arms, both comforted and disconcerted to think that closure could be messy and painful and uncertain, and decisions you made weren't always the right ones, and sometimes the steering wheel broke off in your hands. But things had a way of coming full circle, one way or the other. And they were all stumbling blindly through.  
  
The lilies bobbed and danced in a breeze, laughing and weaving. Vincent watched them wordlessly; Tifa read the silence in his face. Saw the bare shadow of his grief, and the near-hidden glitter of his gratitude.  
  
Stumbling blindly, sometimes without home or hope, and sometimes even headed toward self destruction. But somehow, graciously, undeservedly, pulled through, pushed to your feet, stumbling on again toward the light.  
  
It was, she decided, terrifyingly reassuring. 


End file.
